


The 10th Fera

by mooglez



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooglez/pseuds/mooglez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Feras. These extraordinary men who can shift at will from man to beast have been both hated and feared by humans for decades. Forced into experiments, tested as lab rats, and then made to participate in a cruel game for rich hunters, these men have never known kindness. And yes, they're always men.</p>
<p>That is, until Isabella is born.</p>
<p>With a personality similar to her doe counterpart, shy and gentle Bella is suddenly thrust into the world she's always feared - the violent world of her male peers. Can she stay hidden from the cruel humans in plain sight or will she be forced to seek protection from the Fera's unofficial leader: the strong, deadly, and much-too-handsome Jacob Black? AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Predators.

There are predators all around me.

I can't see them and I can't hear them but there's a faint smell in the air that doesn't belong with the peaceful nature of the forest. Bitter ash and metal from weapons much more fearsome than a grizzly bear.

My nose tests the air every few minutes trying to find my way away from the bad odours. To run in any direction that smells clean.

It's hard – it seems these humans have been everywhere. Every urine soaked tree and strange paw print I pass kicks up my adrenaline and my heart races erratically. They're not even trying to hide downwind. They must be confident beings, just like my second skin is, or maybe they've stopped hunting me.

I continue to run until my limbs threaten to collapse under me. I run hard and long, jumping over fallen logs and ducking under branches. My lithe body barely makes a sound, unlike the loud hunters, and a few of the small rabbits I pass begin to run with me, spurred on by my fear.

It takes a long while but the further away I get the more I'm able to relax. My mind slowly calms along with my body when the smells, sights, and sounds of the forest returns to a less scary sort of normal. A cool breeze ruffles my fur, kicking up stray leaves from around the area. I jump up to catch some in my mouth playfully, almost completely at ease now, slowly gaining my energy back.

Now that the threat's gone, my second skin's consciousness comes forward to the surface to share my space with me. I can feel her disapproval at my antics. Why she's disapproving I don't know; these leaves taste great. Fresh and minty.

I always welcome her presence when it comes, this predator that also walks on two legs and seems to know how to avoid the other predators when they come and how to avoid the odd traps laid out by the monsters.

Although she shares the same human form with them I feel only comfort and trust both from her to me, and from me to her. She may look like the monsters but she's not one herself.

_I need to get back to the cabin or I'll miss my graduation,_ her voice echoes mentally. _I hope you enjoyed your run, Miss Jane Doe, because it's the last one you'll have for a very long time._

These words mean nothing to me, they rarely do with her, but my body turns nonetheless in the direction she wants to go as if controlled by her will alone. I don't mind too much; the grass is beautifully soft and green under my hooves and I'm able to pick up a few stray berries and fruit that have fallen to the ground. They're even nicer than the leaves.

_Careful under this tree. That branch is about_ —

Bang!

A heavy weight hits my rump and sharp pain lances through me.

My human's consciousness disappears in an instant as the enemy startles me into action. With hind legs kicking out frantically at it but not hitting anything, I just run far and fast. My kicks have done all they can do, I can only hope to outrun whatever is attacking me...

* * *

"Isabella Swan."

With a large, fake smile plastered on my face, I make my way over to the middle of the stage. A few catcalls and hoots ring out through the hall from some of the more adventurous boys, like they have with every girl they deemed pretty enough.

A quick handshake, a pose for the camera, and I'm walking back to my seat with my high school certificate in hand. My smile lasts until the second I'm back down in my assigned chair.

I lean forward to rest my head in my hands, rubbing the bridge of my nose hard.

The switch to my _Fera_ form this morning was unsurprisingly hard but it was the first opportunity I had in a long while to do so, and I promised myself it's going to be the last. At least until I'm old and retired. Hopefully by then I'd be living on some private land far, far away from people so I can change without fear of being seen or attacked.

"Hey," a girl from behind me says with a light tap on my shoulder. A handful of dry leaves are thrust into my line of sight. "This was caught in your hair. I wasn't sure if it was a fashion statement or not but they were all falling out."

"Thanks, I didn't notice," I whisper, taking them from her fingers and letting them drop to the ground. "New natural hair treatment. It didn't really go as planned."

"Ah."

Gathering my thick hair to one side I begin to hastily plait it in a loose braid, picking out the few remaining leaves still left. If it's not leaves in my hair it's broken nails or worms or dirt smeared in places it really shouldn't. Forests are _not_ the peaceful sanctuaries storybooks make them out to be. They're dirty and bug filled.

Why did I have to be stuck as a skittish doe as my shapeshifting form? There are so many breeds of regular cats and dogs, or doves and swans in the world… and cockroaches and insects too, if I'm being fair.

My fingers still when the seat begins to shake softly under me. Eric — the guy seated at my side — is twitching his leg so much the chairs next to him are vibrating. A nervous reaction, no doubt.

I glance over him from the corner of my eye. Sweating, foot tapping, and alternating between scratching at his elbow and clearing the non-existent dust from his jacket lapels, it's clear he wants to be here almost as much as I do.

By the time the "T" surnames begin to be called I can't take his fidgeting anymore. Before I can convince myself not to I reach over and grab his clenched hand that's now in the middle of wringing his rolled up diploma.

It's tense and unyielding in my grasp but within seconds he relaxes enough to slide it comfortably into my palm.

His hand feels kind of gross. Slimy, almost. I wonder if that's from his own sweat or mine from the running I had to do to get here on time. His stare, that's obvious even in my peripherals, is too much to ignore and I spare him a quick glance to gauge his comfort level. It's hard to get gestures right sometimes. I'm either too cold and distant to them, or too bubbly and intrusive.

"Thank you," he mouths silently.

Phew. Got it right then. I turn back to the stage to watch more students accept their paper while the corners of my lips twitch.

It's too easy to tune the rest of the ceremony out, especially when the valedictorian gives her speech, which is mostly a humble brag about how she's moving on to a great future in politics and wishes us the same success. She must've been told what her career was early. I tamper down my envy and politely clap with one hand along with the others when she finishes. In another life that might've been me.

Maybe.

"A bit much, isn't she," Eric whispers to me when everyone is given the go ahead to leave as the ceremony closes. He pulls his damp hand from mine to readjust his jacket. "I'm sorry about the fidgeting before. I'm not normally such a wreck."

I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. "It's no problem. I think everyone's nervous today, what with graduating and receiving our career letters on the same day. I know I am. I'm dreading going home and learning what they've saddled me with for the next fifty years of my life."

Career letters. The letter stamped with an official government seal, that describes in complete detail what your future will be. Your job. Your location. Your life.

All specifically tailored based off not just your results during school, but what personality attributes the teachers you had believe you possess. As if teachers have any idea about their students in such a way.

"I'm dreading it too," Eric says. "I've talked to a few of the teachers about it hoping to sway their recommendations for me so I can get work as an editor or author. I'd even take a minor librarian position despite the low pay. Anything to do with books."

"Is that why I always seem to bump into you at the library?"

"Yeah, I guess," he smiles. "It sounds—"

He cuts himself off mid sentence when a hand grabs my arm and sharply pulls me away to the side in such a brutal manner it sends twinges of pain up to my elbow.

"Sorry, Yorkie. I need to talk to Bella now. Girl stuff. You understand."

I allow Jessica, my friend — or is the term frenemy? — to drag me away from Eric and the emptying seats, and towards our own little ragtag group. Seeing Eric's somewhat bewildered and sad face makes me want to go back and apologise but what was I going to do? Yank my arm away and assert myself? Unlikely. Even if her grip _is_ extremely painful.

"Sorry!" I call out as I go. "Um, I'll talk to you later!"

Also unlikely.

Today's the last day I'll probably ever see the anyone from high school again so I'm expected to spend it with the people I hung out with regularly for the last few years. Jessica, Angela, and... ergh, Mike.

The three best friends anyone can have. That is, if you're one hundred percent human.

"Am I your life saver, or what?" Jessica chirps from my side. "Eric is such a weirdo. And could he be any more obvious about his puppy crush on you?"

"He doesn't have a crush on her," both Angela and Mike say instantly at the same time.

Angela is the other girl of our trio and Mike is, well, an unwanted nuisance. The three of them are so different in looks but still so similar in manner. I always feel like the odd one out with my surly personality compared to their pep.

"He does have a crush," Jessica continues, "but trust me, Ang, you don't want anything to do with him. That goes for you too, Bella."

"Nobody wants anything to do with him," Mike says snidely, throwing a hand in Eric's direction, who's shuffling his feet as people walk around him. Back to being a nervous wreck. "Besides, I'm strong _and_ brainy. Everything a girl wants is right here."

Mike's arm slings over my shoulder as he crushes me into his side. Brainy is definitely not the word I would use for Mike but I can't deny his strength. His grip is brutal. He and Jessica have that in common.

I release a nervous laugh while trying to maneuver away from him. I'm not sure whether my timidness is my own natural trait, or one brought about by Jane, my doe. Either way it's not a great one to have.

"As if a girl wants anything from you, idiot," Angela says.

Thanking her silently for Mike's distracted attention I slide out my phone.

"Excuse me," I say, wiggling out of his hold. "I'm going to call my dad to see if he's received my career letter yet."

I walk a little way a ways, pretending to be dialing numbers and pressing the phone against my ear. Sighing internally I count to twenty and pretend to hang up. So pathetic.

Charlie wouldn't be home yet from the police station and I definitely don't want to hear what my lifelong career will be over the phone. I'd just humiliate myself by crying. I stand around for a few more seconds wondering if I should lie about getting my letter and say that I wanted to leave right away to read it in person.

That seems a bit cowardly though, even for my tastes. Plus I'd have to stammer through the lie and dodge their questions. I straighten up and decide to stay with the group instead for a little while. I'll never see them again soon enough anyway.

Walking back to the group I shrug apologetically. "No answer. What were you guys talking about?"

"The usual: how gross Mike is."

"Oh." I fumble to think of something that doesn't involve him. "Are you going to call about your career letters?"

Jessica scoffs. "No, I don't really care what they think I'm good at. I'll just marry some old rich guy and quit anyway. Then I'll see you all at my trial a year later." She holds her hand over her mouth as if in shock. "Poisoned? Oh no. I can't believe it, who would want to hurt my dear Archibald?"

"Archibald?" Angela laughs while Mike rolls his eyes. "Well, I did well academically so I'm not worried. My parents will call me."

As if on command a phone rings in the distance. It sets off a chain of motion and every few minutes after that another student's phone goes off. More career letter results and many groans or squeals of joy.

One poor girl runs out towards the bathroom after a lengthy call, sobbing, as a string of her friends follow her.

"She probably just found out she's going to be a lumberjack or something stupid," Jessica comments snidely. "The girl's as dumb as bricks but have you seen her shoulders? Built like an ox. Definitely a lumberjack or a professional wrestler."

"Don't be so catty," Angela chides. "Knowing your grades you'll be lucky to end up with a lumberjack's salary. Ten dollars says you'll be a maid or a janitor."

"Hey. What do you have against janitors? My dad's one." Mike's steely glare, along with Jessica's, cuts through whatever Angela was about to say. She flushes in embarrassment and mumbles a quick apology before turning her attention to where Eric is.

He's taken up a position on a secluded bench, away from the other students. A worn book in one hand and the other still clutching his diploma. Despite his tapping foot his face is now peaceful.

"I was thinking about saying hi to him," Angela says softly to me, determined to not look at Mike who's still glaring. "Since it's our last day and just to, you know, keep in touch with everyone from school."

"It's never too late to introduce yourself." Although their careers will probably take them to different places of the country and they'll never speak again.

"Can you come with me so it doesn't seem weird? You two were talking earlier so you can introduce us."

"Introduce you? Sure, I mean I can but that was the first time I've really spoken to him myself. Ever."

"It should be the last," Mike butts in. His jaw is clenched and his eye's narrowed. What a baboon. He may as well just start beating on his chest and grunting 'mine, mine'.

"It will be," Jessica says in exasperation. "Didn't I literally say not five minutes ago you two don't want anything to do with him? Five minutes ago."

"I'm just going to go say hi and that I'm sorry I never really spoke to him during school," Angela says sharply. "Who really cares about reputation after graduation?"

"I might be too stupid to do better than a janitor but you bitches should trust me anyway," Jessica says, putting her hand up to cover Mike's mouth before he can protest the janitor comment. She looks down at her very expensive watch. "Wait an hour at least so we can have our time together then you two can go mingle with the geek."

I exchange a look with Angela who just shrugs her confusion.

"Why? He might leave by then."

"He won't, he's too engrossed in his book. Probably flipping through hentai, so he'll be there for hours."

The piercing shriek of a nearby girl catches our attention.

"A model! Oh my God, you guys! Yes! _Yes_!" she cries, jumping around, phone in hand.

"Bella will definitely be a model," Mike says with a crooked smile in my direction. "That face. That bod. Mm-mm! I hope it's for lingerie or swimwear. The money I'd pay to see that..."

Oh, gross. Please stop.

"Thanks," I mumble. Telling him to stop would just encourage him further. He's aggressive like that. "So, who's hungry?"

I wince. It's not the most subtle way I could've changed a conversation.

"I could eat," Angela nods, still watching Eric. "There's a new cafe that opened up nearby. It's only a five minute walk from here. Ten minutes in these shoes, though."

"Any alcohol there?" Mike asks, sending me a quick wink. "I'm buying."

Jessica snorts and crosses her arms. "Let's just eat here at the cafeteria."

"I don't want to eat this crap food. I want to get a drink."

"That's too bad, you alcoholic, we're staying here. Besides, Bella's still only seventeen. No drinking for her for another few months." Being born near the end of the year has it's perks.

They argue over it for several whole minutes. Each second drags by slowly as Angela and I simply stand there watching in silence. This must be what the others call sexual tension; passionate for them but very uncomfortable for everyone else watching.

Suddenly Jessica stops shouting and grabs my arm harshly. Again. _Ow_! Her sharp fingernails dig into my upper arm until I can't contain the bird-like cry of pain.

"Wait, shut up! Here they come!" she squeals. Her eyes are alight with excitement as she points to a black van pulling up into the school's car park. "Look!"

The van is large. Almost entirely too large to be driven on the streets and it takes up the vast majority of the empty car spots.

"I knew it! I _knew_ it!" she continues to squeal. "Oh my god, I knew he was feral. This is amazing. I should be a detective. Forget Archibald, this high is better than money!"

I don't hear her words. The pain of her grip fades instantly as pure fear replaces it. Adrenaline kicks in without warning when I read the side of the van.

FC.

Fera Control.

The crew of human guards responsible for rounding up or putting down the _Homo feras_ — the people like me. The ones who can change forms at will; the ones everyone fears.

"Oh, no," I whisper. My mind goes blank. I don't know whether to run or fight or collapse in a heap. A literal deer stuck in the headlights.

The van's doors fly open with a loud bang and half a dozen armed soldiers in black emerge. They line up shoulder to shoulder and raise their rifles up high in my direction.

"Everybody freeze!"

They've finally come for me.


	2. Her Career Letter

"Nobody move!"

I scream. So does nearly everyone else at the sight of the armed men with loaded guns.

Throwing my hands up in the universal surrender sign I try to calm my body. I'm seconds away from turning into Jane Doe out of sheer fright and getting shot down as an out of control animal is not the way I want to go.

The uncontrollable shifting is one of the main reasons I've avoided all confrontations. Extreme fear equals extreme consequences and in this case those consequences involve fur and four hooves.

Tears fill my eyes as I resist the urge to break down.

How did they find out I'm a Fera? Oh god, someone must have spotted me in the woods changing forms. Damn it! _Damn it!_ I knew I shouldn't have gone out there to change. Jane is nothing but trouble!

Still, they can't say I am for sure, can they?

As far as they know only men can change shape. The Y-chromosome, they said. They were so sure when they announced it... wrong, obviously, but they don't know that.

They shouldn't have suspected me even if all the signs were there. Even if some citizen claimed to have seen me.

Do I beg?

Feign ignorance?

Call them delusional?

I can't fight but I can't let them take me. The rumours of what they do in private are abundant. The torture. The experiments. The stray body parts found in dumps and the missing Fera children who never return home. And this is all before they're shipped off at twenty-one to compete and die in a sick hunting game for men who are bored hunting regular animals.

Well, I won't let them take me. I won't.

But as the tears drop down my cheeks I know I'm lying. I will let them take me. Fighting will just make my situation worse. Maybe passivity, submission, and sobbing will help. It's definitely what the doe in me wants to try.

"Eric Yorkie!" the armed man leading the pack yells out over the cries of students.

"What?" I ask faintly, puzzled, as I'm sure he must be talking to me. That's not my name.

Students begin to part and several point in one direction.

"That's him!" Jessica shouts into my ear. "That one on the seat with the book!"

I don't drag my eyes away from the soldiers or lower my hands until they storm past in a blur of black. Slowly my gaze moves towards Eric.

He's in more shock than I am, his eyes frantically darting between all the men who've trained their guns directly at him. Lowering his book he begins to stand very slowly, cautiously. His certificate and book falls from shaky hands as he moves to face them.

"Are you Eric Yorkie?" one soldier asks forcefully.

Eric nods. "Yes," he whispers.

The armed man gives a curt gesture to the others who start to surround him. "You're coming with us on suspicion of being an unmarked Fera."

"Me? A feral? No, that's crazy," he says. Sweat is dripping heavily from him and his hand is outstretched to create a barrier between him and all the armed men.

"Place your hands behind your head and turn slowly." They all keep their guns trained on him and several release a beam of red light, as thin as a pinpoint, to mark the very middle of Eric's head. They're ready for a kill shot.

I doubt they'll hesitate if the time comes.

"No... no! I'm not one of them!" He backs away from them, his voice raising in desperation. "Please, you have to believe me, I'm not! I'm not!"

"Then you'll have nothing to worry about when the Doc runs some tests. Come with us peacefully or there'll be trouble."

Eric freezes before taking a hesitant step forward, bending just enough to retrieve his book from the ground. Without warning he chucks it straight at the soldiers and turns sharply to begin sprinting away. He pushes through the throng of gasping students who make a clear path for the trailing men.

"Theo. His leg," the leader says coldly.

A quick pop from one of the rifles sends Eric falling heavily to the ground. He barely made it a few feet away. Crying out in agony he clutches at the bloody wound while the men approach.

He tries to scuttle back on his hands, still attempting to somehow leave while dragging a bloody and useless leg behind him.

The tears I've been reigning in finally fall as I take in Eric's desperation and the jeers starting up around him. Now that they know what the fuss is about, the students resume a casual stance, encouraging the soldiers' behaviour. Some even feel brave enough to hurl small rocks at him as he's picked under his armpits up by three men.

The soldiers don't care to be gentle as they drag him through the crowd towards the van ignoring his cries for help. Boos rise up from the others, along with a few curse words and laughs.

"Feral freak!" One boy taunts. "Kill him FC, we'll all say it was in self-defence."

"Ferals not welcome!" another changes the classic anti-Fera slogan. "Peril for ferals!"

Eric's eyes make contact with mine, beseeching me to do something. Anything.

I don't do a single thing. I can't.

Guilt churns in my stomach while my fingers twitch, wishing there's a way I can help but I have to be realistic. I can't take on an entire school and heavily armed guards, steal a wounded boy, and somehow make it to a safe and secluded area.

Hell, I can't even take on a single boy by the name of Mike.

_I'm sorry_ , I want to tell him. _I'm sorry this is happening. I'm sorry for the sheer relief I feel that it's you, not me, being taken away. I'm so sorry I'm such a coward._

I try to convey as much sympathy in my face as I can but I don't make a move to help him. Nobody does. If he is a shapeshifter he doesn't show it by turning, which is smart. The armed men have been trained to deal with animals as big and ferocious as dinosaurs — literally, apparently even a species' extinction doesn't stop the shifts — so they could take Eric out easily if he decides to make another run for it in his alternate form.

A rock hits his temple sharply and his head snaps back on impact.

"That's enough, children!" the armed leader snaps. The noise quiets, although soft whispers of cruelty still echo.

"The year your Hunt is up I'm placing a grand on your shape being a rat," Mike taunts when Eric passes. "I always had a feeling there was something wrong with you."

Eric begins to falter, even while being dragged he's having trouble remaining upright. When they pass us I rush forward and catch his elbow before he falls limp, trying to spare him any sort of further humiliation. "Here, I've got you."

I brush some of the blood off his face with the end of the sleeve not daring to look up at the guards or students as I help him limp along with the other three men who are far more forceful. Helping the FC take a kid to his doom is not how I thought this day would go.

"You've got to be strong," I whisper softly enough that the guards hopefully can't hear. I don't know what to say. Telling him things are going to be all right is a cruel lie when we both know what will happen to him. "I know you can be. I'm so sorry, Eric. I'm so sorry this is happening to you. This isn't fair."

His hand finds mine once again and gives it a hard squeeze as he tries to convey what his mouth can't. Someone must have thrown another rock because the next second something hard hits my head with enough force that it throws me to the ground.

"I said that's enough!" The leader yells out while I clutch at my throbbing temple. "If another single thing is thrown I will personally put a bullet between your eyes. I don't give a damn if you're all still in nappies."

By the time I stumble up to my feet, with a little help from both Angela and Mike at my side, Eric's already at the back panel of the van.

With a clenched fist I watch as the men wrap thick leather, chained in the middle, around Eric's slim neck. They're collaring him like a dog. Shaming him further in front of all of us because they can. They shove him hard into the empty large space, slam the back of the van closed, and take off as quickly as they came.

It's over within ten minutes.

"This isn't right."

I can barely hear Angela's voice. Either she's whispering to herself or the buzzing in my ears hasn't ceased.

Mike touches my throbbing temple and I jerk back. "You alright? Looks like a nasty bump. You shouldn't have put yourself in the middle of that; the feral could've gotten real dangerous if he wasn't actually a rat. Which I still think he is."

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

"I didn't see who threw it or they'd be going to Pound Town right now."

"Pound Town means sex, genius," Jessica says, grinning like a mad fool. She grabs Angela's hands, who's looking off into the distance. "Can you believe that happened? It was _me_! I'm the one that figured it out. You thought I didn't have a brain. Ha!"

"What do you mean?" Angela's voice is so soft and calm that I fear she's in shock. I fear I am, too.

"I didn't connect the dots until a few days ago when Eric was asked where he was born. Obviously they meant to ask what city but he said he had a home birth. A _home_ birth. Not too weird by itself but then I remembered when we were really little he said his birthday was September thirteenth. That stuck with me because I knew even then that was the birth date of our year's ferals."

A sort of unexplainable phenomenon, every year the Feras who are born are all born on the exact same day. My birthday is September thirteen as well, although I tell people it's on the twelfth. It's bizarre, but then again what's not bizarre about entire groups of men turning into animals.

"So I called up a friend who's in the nursing department to check out his records. Turns out," she pauses dramatically, "there are _none_. He never had his vaccinations. Ew. So, I put in a tip to the FC about him and they assured me they were on their way to test him right then. They must've processed his results super quick because it was only two days ago."

"You're just full of surprises," Mike says with a laugh, ruffling up her styled hair.

I feel so betrayed by her and I hate myself for being surprised once again. Sure, they've all had lengthy discussions on how vile Feras are but loyalty was one of Jessica's only redeeming qualities. To turn on a fellow classmate like that…I shake my head.

"Here I was about to knock the little freak out for chatting up my girls when he probably goes home to shag his dog."

"Mike!" Angela cries. "That's disgusting and I hope you're not including me as part of 'your girls'".

"Nah. Just Bella and her girls, if you get my meaning."

I don't.

"Are you okay?" I ask Angela gently.

"Of course I am," she scoffs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I try not to stutter. "I thought you liked him and now he's about to go through hell."

"Eric? Good, I don't care. Those freaks shouldn't be here with us. He deserves worse for pretending to be one of us this whole time. They manipulate us into caring by using those fake human appearances."

"Right!" Jessica pulls Angela in for a hard hug as I gape at them both. "You're so lucky you've got me. You owe me one for nothing letting you stick your tongue down a feral."

"Definitely. I owe you big."

Jessica turns to me and gives me the once over. "Why'd you try to help him?"

I shrug as casually as possible hoping it will hide my shaking. "I don't know. I wasn't really thinking but I couldn't stand by and do nothing. We don't know for sure if he's really a shapeshifter, and if he is he's still… human. From the Homo genus tree at least, I mean."

"Gross, you're not a sympathiser, are you?"

"No!" Definitely not something I want to be known as. Word will spread and next thing I know I'll be under heavy surveillance. Or worse. "I just felt really bad for him. I suppose I'm simply empathetic."

"That's my girl," Mike says. "Nice even to the vermin."

Jessica turns back to Ang. "Do you think he's going to survive until his Hunt? Or will he roll over and die before then? Three years is a long time."

"He won't make it," she answers with confidence.

"You sure? Wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

"Wait a minute." Mike scrunches up his graduation certificate and throws it without care into his backpack. Pulling out his keys he motions to his car. "If we're going to start betting on the animals then we do it the right way. Let's go to the Lodge to place some bets for this year's Hunt since we can't do ol' Eric's yet and then we'll get drinks. A toast to the rat's takedown by the extraordinary Jessica."

She squeals in delight.

I can't think of anything worse if I tried. Betting on those poor people? On Eric? No way.

"I'm under eighteen, I can't do either," I say without concern. Cool, calm, and collected. "I think I'll just go home. All the excitement here and that rock to the head has given me a headache anyway."

"I'm not going if she's not," Angela says with folded arms.

"She's coming," Mike insists. He turns to me with a playful grin. "You don't have to put money down but there's no law against me taking your advice and putting down my own. We'll split the profits if I win."

"Really, it's okay. I'm so tired and in shock from everything that's happened. I just want to go home and sleep."

"Bella. You're coming with us." He's losing his playfulness and kicking up my anxiety. Human men are so fearsome when they're angry, I don't understand why some girls enjoy it. "You could have a serious injury. What do they call it, a concussion? So we need to keep an eye on it."

"No Mike really, I should—"

"Swan, get to the car."

Without another protest I start the walk to his car, stepping over the bloodied remains of Eric's graduation certificate.

* * *

As we pull up to the Lodge I can almost see the appeal it has. Rustic and earthy, the very large, wooden cabin stands proud surrounded by a few strategically placed trees. Three wooden booths with glass panels stretch out the front near the entrance. Only one bookkeeper is working today.

"Here for the afternoon dog races?" the bookkeeper asks in a bored tone. His long white beard is dipping into his coffee but he doesn't seem to notice.

Jessica frowns. "No way, dog races are barbaric. That should be shut down. We're here to place bets on this year's Hunt."

Exactly as it sounds, the Hunt is a great time for bored, rich men to shoot at the Fera males who've made it to their twenty-first birthday and didn't die from the research conducted on them over the years. Dragged into a private reserve where they're let loose to run. Run as far as they can, usually for days, from the hunters with military grade gear who are trying to kill them. If they're very lucky they find and reach the elusive finish line, where they instantly become soldiers for our country. If they're not lucky… well, more than a few unique pelts are stretched out over Hunter mantles.

The whole affair is considered a week long public holiday where everyone else gets several days off work to drink and gamble over every aspect of the Hunt.

Fun times all around.

"The Hunt?" the bookkeeper laughs. "Nice try, greenies. That's not for another six months. Come back a little closer to the date when we actually have the odds announced."

"We don't care about odds," Mike grumbles and pulls out a wallet full of cash before slamming several bills on the counter. "Write it down. Twenty on there being four ferals, ten dollars on one of them being a bug species, another ten on at least two dying, and a fiver on there being at least two herbivores. If there's any Quileutes in there I want another five dollars on them turning into a wolf or a bear. It's always between those two with those guys."

The bookie nods quickly and scrambles to write everything down. He stashes the money out of sight. "The odds aren't out yet so you might be bettin' in an non-existing race, but it's too late. It's the Lodge's money now." He fixes his gaze on us. "You girls putting in?"

"Five on a unicorn!" Angela exclaims, pulling out some of her own money. "Another five on a mermaid."

Mike grabs it out of her hand before she can hand it over. "Don't be stupid, there's no such thing as unicorns and mermaids."

"We got a dragon two years ago. Why not a unicorn this year? Neither are supposed to exist."

"It wasn't a damn dragon two years ago, it was a huge flying lizard that probably died out millions of years ago. You're not throwing away good drinking money on unicorns and shit."

"I don't care, it's my money." Yanking it out of his grip she gives it to the bookie who happily takes it.

"I can tell you now if you're right you're going to be very happy just from this fiver alone. The odds are always extremely high on mythological creatures."

Jessica shoves Angela aside and practically slams her money on the wood counter. "Ten dollars on there being six players and another ten dollars on half of them being hot."

"Hot?" the bookie echoes. The man must be over seventy at least, maybe he doesn't know the term.

"Or half of them being ugly, I don't care which bet it is. Same thing really."

"Miss, we don't accept subjective bets like that. I'll accept the six player bets, though."

"It's not subjective. Anyone can tell the difference between an ugly and handsome man. Even straight guys can, though they're so insecure they'll take that fact to the grave. Anyway, that's what I want my money on."

"I'm telling you this isn't a valid bet. We won't accept it. Try somethin' else."

"I want the hot men bet."

"That's not happening. Pick something else or I'll black book you."

"How about how many muscles they have. I want to bet on three of them having a six-pack."

"That's not allowed here, either. Ain't no men giving a damn about how many muscles the animals have."

"Okay, what about for one of the ferals having a nine-inch trouser snake? That's measurable."

The bookie gasps and slams his hand down on the table in front of him. "That's enough! You're barred from this year's Hunt, little lady. You can come back next year when you learn how to clean that disgusting mouth and grow up. No-one should be lookin' at disgusting animals like that."

Jessica simply shrugs and steps aside as though she expected that outcome. The angry red beginning to creep up the old man's neck slowly recedes as he takes deep, calming breaths.

"And you, girl?" he nods in my direction, trying not to mumble under his breath about immature women. "You want in on any of this or are you going to be another foul-mouthed child?"

Sure, I want to say. I bet one will get a bullet to the brain from a cowardly sniper sitting far away and the crowds at the bars will cheer.

"No, no," I shake my hands in front of my face instead with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm only seventeen."

"Seventeen?" he turns sharply to the others. "I want to see some IDs. Cough them up. Shouldn't you be in school?"

"We just graduated," Angela mumbles.

"So it's your career day, huh. I remember mine," he scoffs as he takes their IDs and makes some notes. "Real fancy words. Professional venue financer. I ain't financed a single thing in all my years here."

"Right. Our bets still good then?" Mike impatiently takes his card back with a huff. "Or are we having a thing here? A trip down memory lane."

"Yeah it's still good, you ugly brats. I've got your details so you can piss off now and come back in six months to watch the Hunt with the other gamblers."

"I'll watch it at home."

"Suit yourself."

Jessica, Angela, and Mike head back to the car in high spirits while I trail behind.

"That was fun! I've never bet before." Angela looks back at me while continuing to talk. "Where do you want to eat, Bella? The cafe will have vegetarian options for sure."

"My dad's making a big dinner in celebration tonight. I don't want to spoil my appetite. In fact, he's probably wondering where I am now; it's getting late." I lie. My stomach wants to empty itself just by being in this place so nothing will spoil my appetite.

The gambling Lodge. Hunting Lodge. Whatever it is, it's sick. "Plus, I'm not feeling that great still."

"Late? It's barely five," Mike butts in. "I'll take you home though, babe. Make sure someone's there to look after you. Then the rest of us can go eat but you're coming out with us tomorrow. Who knows, we might only have this week together. We should make the most of it."

From the way his eyes start roaming over my body I know exactly what it is he wants to make the most out of.

"Sounds great."

Another lie.

* * *

"That's Charlie's car. He's home," I tell Mike as we pull up to my tiny home. I jump out as soon as he brakes. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Want me to come in just in case he's not home? Or to tell him about your head? I haven't met the Police Chief before."

"He's home." Did he not hear me? "He'll definitely keep an eye on my small bump but I'm sure it's nothing. Thanks again, I really appreciate it."

I start to close the door but he throws an arm out to stop it. "Okay, but I mean it about tomorrow. We're going out. You can tell me all about your new modelling career."

"You mean going out with Angela and Jessica?"

"Sure, if I remember to invite them," he says slyly. "Otherwise it might just be the two of us."

Oh, no. He's about to get very forward now that high school's done and there's nothing to lose.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Mike. I'm not that comfortable with—" how do I say it without making him mad? "—hanging out with guys alone."

"You won't be alone," he says. "I don't plan on taking you to a deserted back alley, Bella. We can hit up a food joint so you can eat your vegan junk."

Damn. "Maybe. I'll let you know how I'm feeling."

Guess I'll be pulling another 'fake sickness' trick for the next week. That's another attribute the teachers probably have written down on my personality assessment: Isabella Swan. Not an honest bone in her body. Cowardly _and_ a compulsive liar.

It's not entirely my fault, though. Since I share myself with a doe I take on her more dominant traits, which unfortunately is fearfulness and cowardice.

"Whatever," Mike says and pulls his hand away. "See you then."

He revs his engine loudly twice and zooms off down the street. I turn to race inside my house and find Charlie, needing him more than anything right now. Maybe some lentil curry, too. That's a close second.

"Charlie?" I call out softly, closing the door behind me. "Dad?"

The place is spotless, but considering it's a rather tiny two bedroom, one bathroom house in a modest part of town it's not that hard to accomplish. We've never had very much in the way of furniture or appliances and being two tidy-minded people helps.

A stack of unopened letters lay on the small, wood kitchen table and I repress a grimace. My career is undoubtedly in one of those.

"Bella!"

I shriek, startled for a few seconds. Charlie stands behind me, one arm out for a hug and the other delicately holding what looks to be a plate with a piece of vanilla cake.

"Sorry!" he exclaims, reaching forward to envelop me in a tight hug, balancing the plate at the same time. "I should know better than to scare you like that. Oh, Bella. I'm so proud of you. You're a graduate!"

He places the cake down so he can wrap both arms around me. I return it as tightly as I can, needing an anchor after the events this afternoon.

"I'm so proud. Renee would be proud, too, and look," he gestures to the plate, "I came home from the station a little early to bake."

"Thanks, Dad. You're the best," I whisper into his shoulder, squeezing before pulling away. He doesn't cook. Ever. So for him to do this must've taken a lot of work and patience.

"It's plain so I don't know how it's going to taste. It seemed like the easiest thing to make without burning down the kitchen. If it's terrible I can order in something else. I was thinking we could have pizza tonight as it's a special occasion." He rummages through the drawers for another plate. "We also need a frame for your graduation certificate. Where is it, by the way?"

I remove my bag and unroll the paper. It's a little creased from my lack of care but it doesn't matter; the paper itself is essentially useless at this point and only good for decoration.

No-one cares where you graduated as the government's already decided where we're going to end up for the rest of our days — the only ladders we can climb are those directly connected to our career.

Like how my dad went from a regular police grunt to Police Chief. A kitchen hand can become a chef. Someone longs for the life of a musician but isn't that great yet? Tough. After processing the results there's no do-overs and no amount of practice or sudden genius will change that. The government has its best minds at work to make our society as productive as possible, after all.

"It's right here." I hand it to him and watch with a smile as he sheds a few happy tears that he tries to hide with a quick swipe of his hand.

"This is it then. You're really all grown up. In just a week you'll be leaving me all alone."

"Oh, Char— Dad, no," I tell him. "Even if I do go away, which might not happen, you know I'll be calling every single day. You'll get so sick of talking to me you'll enjoy the peace and quiet. Besides, seventeen isn't _that_ grown up. I'll still need your advice on everything."

He gives me a wobbly smile. No matter what I know he's proud that I made it through high school and most importantly, kept out of the spotlight and away from the eyes of the Fera Control. The rest is just icing.

"And I think you know just how immature I can be." There's a pregnant pause as I wait for him to compose himself. "So, did you make this from scratch?"

I pick the cake slice up by hand, manners forgotten, and take a generous bite. It's actually… really good.

"Oh," I moan. "Definitely store bought mix. This is amazing."

He laughs. "You know it's not. I can be a great cook!"

"So modest too!" I laugh. "That must be where I get my humbleness from."

"And your good looks."

I can't deny my looks being good without insulting him directly because he's right. I'm almost the female image of him. Dark, wavy mahogany hair (although mine is long and lacking the strands of white), light brown eyes, and pale skin that burns far too easily. He has a lot of age spots and freckles and I'm more petite in bone structure, of course, but otherwise we're very similar.

The only physical thing that really separates us, besides the obvious like his mustache amongst other male things, is the small white splatter of spots that creep up both sides of my neck in perfect synchronisation. I've had them since birth. My fawn spots. Usually once a fawn grows their winter coat they'll lose them but mine have never left. Even in doe form Jane has a few spots left here and there along her body.

"That too," I say.

He laughs and turns to pick up the phone. "I'll order in some pizza before everyone has the same idea. We'll have an early dinner. Extra meat and cheese on yours?"

"Ha-ha," I say, getting comfortable in the kitchen chair while adamantly avoiding the letters.

Another downside — or upside, depending on how you look at it — to turning into a doe is that I don't have the stomach for meat. Literally. It almost caused my pediatrician to have a heart attack when she saw my grotesquely-shaped stomach through a CT scan when I was eight after coming in for a tummy ache.

Convinced it was some type of tumour she pushed for more tests. Needless to say, Charlie quickly ran with me in tow and, except for some routine vaccines, I haven't been back to the doctor's since.

"It'll be here in twenty." He says after a few minutes. Sitting in the chair opposite mine he looks at me with a mixture of concern and eagerness. "Your career letter came today."

Of course it did. I pointedly ignore both him and the daunting letter pile.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he says softly. "I know how much you enjoyed school and science fairs when you were young. You must hate me for forcing you to dumb yourself down. Especially now that the rest of your life is on the line."

Sometimes I think I do hate him for it. I know I did growing up when he beamed at my report cards featuring straight Cs and Bs, but any hatred is always replaced by guilt for feeling that way. Who knows, maybe I would've asked my child to do the same thing if I thought it'd protect them and keep them away from interested eyes. Average means flying under the radar.

"It's okay. I probably wouldn't have done much better even if I tried my best."

"It's not okay, Bella. No matter what happens in life never think what's happened to you is fair or okay. It's not okay that I had to ask you to do this. To make sure you never wind up in a high-stress position of authority or attention. I know it's not fair to you."

"That's the thing though, it's not me who's being treated unfairly. I don't mind dumbing myself down a little to stay invisible because I know there are men out there right now being dissected or god knows what." I shudder violently. "The FC came to my school today."

He stares, slack-jawed and wide-eyed before hissing, " _What_? How did I not hear about this? Dear god, Isabella, please don't tell me someone saw you this morning out in the forest! What the Hell was Control doing at your school?"

"They weren't after me. There's a boy my age who's suspected of being a Fera. I don't know if he is or isn't but they took him anyway. Who knows what they're doing this second."

His face tightens as he pinches the bridge of his sharp nose. I've completely ruined the mood. "As long as it wasn't you."

"Dad!"

"No, listen to me. It's tragic what's happening to the men but that isn't your fight. You can't help them. You think of yourself first, okay? I know that young girls are taught to put others before them, to always do the selfless thing, but that's not good advice to give anyone. You put yourself first always. Always, Bella. Especially when it comes to this. In the end you've only got yourself."

I almost laugh. "I love you but you're terrible at making me feel better about this."

"I'm not kidding around. Promise me."

His worry is crystal clear — it's over every part of his face and in the tightness of his bunched muscles. "I promise."

He nods, reaches forward and grasps the bundle of letters. "Yourself first. There's nothing we can do for your friend right now. Ever, really. He should have hid himself better like you did. What we _can_ do is deal with this elephant in the room. So do you want to read it or do you want me to?"

"We could read it after pizza." Or never. Either way works for me.

"It's like a band-aid. We'll rip it off fast and be done with it."

"That's a good way to rip off your skin as well," I say without humour. "We could let it soak in warm water until we forget about it and it just disappears."

"Bella." He's unrelenting.

"You read it, please." As much as I don't want to know, the letters are a good distraction from terrible thoughts that want to creep back into my mind.

I hear the envelope opening and I cringe violently, waiting for my future to tumble out of Charlie's mouth any second. He simply breathes deep for a few long moments as he skims through the letter in it's entirety.

Finally he releases a shuddering breath. "Well, it could be much worse. You're not going to be a courtesan."

"A prostitute? I didn't even know that could've been an option!"

"It's on the tables for a lot of girls and boys, unfortunately. Troubled children, the mentally disabled, and vulnerable ones."

"What? They can't do that. They can't _force_ that on someone."

He shakes his head, still reading my letter. "They can. The industry is too profitable to close down."

My eyebrows shoot up. "So they use the people who need them the most to make their money for them. Humans are revolting."

"Bella..." Charlie looks at me a little puzzled. " _You're_ human."

"Not really. Not the way it counts." A terse moment of silence. He seems to be contemplating re-telling me about my birth in graphic detail just so I'm sure that I really did come from a full-blooded _Homo sapien_ woman. "So, what am I going to be? Am I leaving town?"

Mentally I cross my fingers for a teacher, trying to shake the image of forced courtesans from my mind. I'm okay with teaching children. I can definitely handle that for the rest of my life.

"A domestic assistant."

"A what?" I grab the letter out of his hand and read over the contents as fast as I can. A few mentions of someone named Edward Cullen, a manor, train departure times and pickup to my new home of Forks, and monetary compensation. There, near the very bottom in bold letters reads:

**POSITION** : Domestic Assistant.

"What does it mean?" I ask softly.

"It's a… they help out around a client's house or building. They do domestic type chores like replacing bed linens, cleaning, or putting together meals. They keep the place running in order, really."

A _maid_. I'm going to be some rich snob's toilet cleaner.

"It's an honest job, sweetheart." Charlie's calm tone makes me want to yell. It's a fine job, really. I'll be fed and sheltered, without attention from anybody as the help rarely gets noticed. "People remember the names of the greatest and worst in society. This middle ground is a blessing in disguise."

"To die in relative obscurity?"

"Absolutely. Acknowledgement is overrated."

"Yeah, you're right." I ball the letter up in my fist but don't trash it just yet. There's too much information about the rest of my life on there. "It's an honest job. I know."

Charlie looks lost. He comes around behind me as I sink my head into my arms on the table. I feel his hand just hovering over my back as if he's giving me some phantom comforts but unsure what to really do.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and decides on a few short rubs between my shoulder blades.

My breath comes out in shuddering gasps and I know I'm seconds from crying. "Don't be. I'm not… I'm not the sort of person who would've amounted to much, Dad. I know it. The only time I have a backbone is when I'm daydreaming about having one."

"You have a great backbone. It's right here." He taps hard on my spine with one bony finger. "Seems solid to me."

I crack a smile and lift my head up long enough to grab the plate of half-eaten cake and drag it into my arms. I try to eat it with my head half on the table but it's a losing fight.

"I don't want to admit it, but I shed a few tears too, when I read my letter," he says and comes back around to sit in front of me. "It's hard. It's so hard to have your choices taken from you at such a young age. I didn't know what the term 'public servant' meant until my own parents explained it to me. Yes, I felt a lot of shame. A lot of frustration. It wasn't something I ever imagined for myself. But as my mother, your grandmother, had said, it was good enough to keep me dry at night and with bread in my stomach."

He pats my hand. "Besides, I met your mother on the line of duty. Rescuing that damsel in distress on the beach was the best thing that ever happened to me. Maybe you're on the exact path you need to be."

"Maybe," I say deadpanned, but inside I feel much lighter. He's right, there's no guarantee that things won't be amazing in the future. Especially if I give them a chance.

"Who knows," he continues. "The man you're working for might be extremely rich, handsome, and desperately single. Maybe he'll fall in love with you on the spot and shower you with gifts."

"Or maybe the woman I'm working for will be extremely old and wants to buy me jewelry because her grandchildren never visit. Then she'll write me into her will along with her Siamese cats who inherit everything."

"That too."

I wipe at the few tears that fell in self-pity and laugh off as much of the bitterness and resentment as I can.

By the time the pizza is here I'm in much better spirits and lounging on the couch with Charlie. He just talks and talks, aware through some other-level intuition that I'm in no mood for talking myself but I still need the conversation.

He reminisces about my mother, about his own parents, and about my days playing make-believe in the backyard.

"You were trying to play pretend as a big dinosaur with your mother but she gave such an impressive female dino-roar back that you changed to your deer form out of pure fright! At the time it was the scariest thing in the world. You couldn't begin to imagine our surprise. I might have even peed myself a little."

"Dad! You did not. I didn't scare you that badly that you wet yourself, did I?"

"No, I'm teasing. I'm not quite that old yet."

I take a quick glance at the clock, not quite my usual bed time but close enough.

"It's been a crazy day," I say, getting up slowly. Cracking my back I give a half-exaggerated yawn. "I'm going to get an early night."

"Bella…" he cuts off whatever sympathies he was going to give. "I'm very proud of you. Try to get a good night's sleep. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I make my way to my room, barely a few feet away, and fall back onto my soft bed.

There's nothing else to do now but pray that the house's owner, this Edward Cullen guy, is kind and not the sort that takes sadistic pleasure in ordering people around. Some rich man on a power trip. Or even worse, a religious anti-Fera nut that I have to take orders from for the rest of my life. I suppose I'll know in a week when I arrive.

Laying my pillow over my face I try to contain the sounds as I cry myself to sleep.


	3. Last Week of Freedom

We start to pack the very next morning.

"What does the letter say to bring?" Charlie asks as he drags out a very ugly, old suitcase from his room. "I don't remember it saying anything when I skimmed it."

I take another quick glance at the letter but like before, it says nothing about what I have to bring with me, or what my duties are, or what to expect when I arrive. I know what career letters look like; they made us read through quite a few in school to prepare us, but all the examples I've read were heavy on the details of the job. This one has absolutely nothing.

"It doesn't say a thing."

It's confusing, but it doesn't really matter. I've never needed many clothes and we've never had that much money to buy knick-knacks. Nearly everything I own fits without too much trouble into the suitcase and I zip it up with a huff.

"There. All done."

Charlie runs his finger over the edge of the suitcase. "I didn't realise how little you had."

"I didn't pack up everything, I still have a couple of clothes left for the week."

"It's not that, Bella." He pauses for a long while, his eyes almost sorrowful as he stares down at it. With a careful hand he unzips it again and picks up a few of my items: jeans, toiletries, converse shoes. "There's nothing in here of any valuable. Nothing to remember me or your mother by. It's all just... so worthless."

"I don't need any trinket to remember you by. My memories are much more valuable than any jewelry or keepsake."

"Tell me that again in the future when you need some old rings to pawn off to pay your gambling debts."

"I can pay off my own gambling debts, thank you very much," I laugh, although my smile feels forced. I'm going to miss him so much. He's my rock, and the only one in the whole world who I can talk to about my true self. My fears for the future and my doubts. I'd be content with being able to speak to my doe while in human form if it were possible, even if all she does is worry about every sound made and talk about how great leaves and fruit taste.

"I'm really going to miss you, Dad," I mumble, taking his hands off my suitcase so I can hug him again. "I don't know if I can do this without you."

"Of course you can, kiddo. You're strong." He hug back is tighter than ever but I don't even care if it leaves bruises. "You promised to call every day too, remember?"

"I don't know if I _promised_ that but I will." Actually, now that I think about a maid might not be able to use her owner's personal line. "Or try to."

"That's a promise, then," he insists. I simply nod my head in agreement.

He leaves for the police station around the middle of the day — a perk of being the chief is that he can come and go somewhat freely unless there's a real emergency.

"Call me if there's any trouble," he says as he throws his police jacket on at the door. "Or if you need to talk. I'd love to spend the entire week with you but I have to make sure the station's still upright."

"No problem, I've been to your work before. I know how it can easily become a mess without you there, but be here for dinner tonight. I'm making alfredo. Otherwise I can just save you some." As I go to lock the door behind him, I notice another familiar car sitting a little ways down from our driveway. Mike 'I can't take a hint' Newton.

He's just sitting there, staring at us from behind slightly tinted windows. Charlie doesn't notice as he hops in his wagon and drives away with a quick wave, but I do, and I stand my ground for a few seconds, staring at Mike right back with a quizzical look.

It takes nearly an entire minute before he jumps out and heads towards me, a large smile lighting up his face.

"Hey Bella!" he calls out cheerfully.

"Hi?" It comes out more of a question. I wait until he's right in front of me. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd surprise you to take you out to lunch. If I asked you first you'd probably make up an excuse."

Okay, maybe he's more of a "I can take a hint but won't accept it" kind of guy.

"Oh. All right. Is Angela or Jessica coming?"

I mentally groan as he shakes his head curtly. Of course not. I'm never that lucky.

"I asked them but they're both too busy getting ready to leave for their new jobs. So it'll just be the two of us. Are you ready to leave now or do you want me to come in and wait?"

Neither. I glance down at my raggedy shirt and jeans with a shrug. "I'm okay to leave now."

_Just get this over with,_ I tell myself. _Last lunch with him forever._

* * *

He takes me in his car to an old restaurant aptly named 'Five Cent Food' that the four of us used to visit after school in our earlier days. The food, while not five cents, is cheap enough for even the poorest of school children who want some kind of faux fine dining.

"Thanks," I say as he pulls out my chair for me at a table. "I haven't been here in ages."

"Me too. I figured reminiscing over old times would be nice. So, now that we're both settled in, tell me. What modelling agency booked you?"

I fidget with the salt shakers on the table, trying and failing to find a way around the question. I'm not embarrassed about my position but I don't want him to know what it is either. I don't want him to know anything about me.

"This might sound crazy," I start with a breathy laugh, "but I'm not really sure what my career is. My letter was really vague. Unfortunately not a model, though."

"What do you mean by vague?"

"Vague. It didn't have much detail to it. I don't know. Maybe they're trying to keep it classified and I'll know when I leave."

"Hm." He looks skeptical and clearly doesn't believe a word I'm saying. Perhaps he _is_ smarter than I give him credit for. Signaling for a waiter Mike orders both of our meals and drinks without asking what I want first. "Do you want to know what mine is?"

"Of course!" I say with far too much fake enthusiasm in an attempt to get the conversation off me.

He doesn't notice, instead he puffs out his chest proudly and says, "I'm headed to Forks. They want me to be part of their military program situated off-base there. Apparently I'm one of the few in the entire country that's in best physical shape for it with a perfect combination of ultimate strength and stamina for running or hiking long distances."

He rolls up his sleeves on his shirt. "Feel my bicep."

"No thank you," I decline politely. He leans over and thrusts his bicep right into my face.

"Feel it."

I pat along his arm where I think the bicep runs and give a sound of what I hope is appreciation. I can't feel any real definition. He's built like a solid log – they're what I'd call tree trunk arms. Is it muscle or fat? Who knows. "Very nice. I can see why they chose you for the military."

He leans back with a self-satisfied smirk. "So, where are you headed?"

"Maine," I lie instantly. There is no way on Earth I'd tell Mike that we're both going to the same location for possibly the rest of our lives.

"That's as far away from Forks as you can be," he says with a frown.

"Is it?" I try to look put out and saddened about the fact. It'd be a lot harder to pull off if I _was_ moving to Maine rather than the exact same town as him. Luckily it's a big enough place that I should be able to avoid him easily, especially since I'm being housed at the Cullen's manor and don't have to roam the streets to search for apartments and food.

"How often do you think you'll be able to travel?" he asks none too subtly.

I shrug casually and pick tiny bits of lint off my shirt to steady my hands. "Probably not often, but like I said, my letter was really vague."

"I won't be able to travel for _pleasure_ when I'm stationed at the military camp," he continues. "So, it's either you come see me or we'll only have this week together."

I'm sure he'll figure out which one it is when I never see his smug face again. How a man can develop such an extraordinary ego I'll never know. After sending him a half smile we sit in silence until our food arrives.

As I poke the soggy salad around the bowl with my fork I hear a voice exclaim from behind, "No way!"

Jessica and her on-again off-again boyfriend are standing right behind us with shocked looks on their faces. "I didn't think he'd ever be able to pull it off but here you two are. Bella and Mike. On a date!"

"It's not a date," I say quickly as my face heats up. Sending Mike a death glare I continue, "He told me he invited you and Angela."

Jessica'a smile becomes a sly smirk and she leans over me to hit Mike on the shoulder. "You sneaky little prick. You lied to get her alone, did you? Well fun's over, Tyler pull that table over here. We'll make this a double date."

Her boyfriend runs off to do her bidding and she sits down on the edge of our table. The plates and cutlery fly up from the extra weight before smashing back down noisily. "You won't believe what I scored for a job."

Mike and I wait patiently for her to continue. Judging from his stormy expression though his silence is likely not from polite waiting but annoyance from her interrupting our 'date'.

Her eyes dart between us in anticipation. She doesn't wait for us to start guessing and blurts out, "A fashion designer! Can you believe that!"

"Congratulations," I say with a small smile. "Do you have to leave here for that?"

"Nope! I get to stay right here. I mean, I'm starting out as a fashion designer's assistant but obviously I'm going to be the designer in a few years or so. They wrote 'assistant' because I'd have to learn the ropes. No-one starts at the very top, of course, it always takes time."

"That's fantastic. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," she says. She yanks another table's chair out and drags it right up next to me. "I hope I get rich fast. My dad just blew through over one hundred _thousand_ dollars yesterday so we're almost completely broke. The stupid idiot. How am I supposed to make a good first impression with cheap, off the shelf clothing?"

I remember Jessica's dad from the few sleepovers I've had with her over the years. A thick, bushy beard and caring eyes, didn't seem the sort to waste that kind of money.

"One hundred thousand?" Tyler huffs out as he sits down opposite her after pulling the tables together. "What the hell costs that much these days? A monster truck?"

"The idiot joined the Hunter Squad for the Hunt this year. It's been his dream for decades apparently to play with the rich boys and their high tech military gear so he just went for it. I told him he's way too old for this mid-life crisis impulse buys. Like, hire a hooker or something."

The boys crack up with laughter while I sit stonily in my chair.

Disappointment shoots through me in a heartbeat but I can't say I'm surprised. No matter how kind the humans are to me, it's always conditional kindness. If they ever found out... If Jessica's dad knew what I was during a sleepover I'd have been sleeping in a ditch outside somewhere instead of a nice warm sleeping bag.

"As much as I hate the animals I'd never spend that sort of money on them. Even if it _was_ to blow their brains right out of their skulls," Mike spits. "The best way to really stick it to them is to buy a nice place and bang a lot of girls there. It's a death sentence for them to get anywhere near our women like that so you know their balls must be blue as hell."

"C'mon, man," Tyler says in disgust. "I'm about to order food. I don't want to hear about gross feral sex."

"Imagine them doing it doggy style with each other. The 'Alpha' —" he uses bunny quotes with an exaggerated drawl, "—dominating all his boy bitches. That'd be allowed and hilarious to watch."

"Dude!" They both laugh and Jessica simply rolls her eyes at them.

"Boys. What about you, Bella?"

I turn to her wide eyed. "Me? What about me? I'd never want to participate in that thing as a Hunter."

"Not that." Another eye roll. "You can't anyway. It's a men only sport because rules don't apply. If the Hunters weren't equipped with such powerful gear the ferals would have a chance to actually do some damage – even kill one of us. Could you imagine? There'd be riots if the freaks managed to kill a human woman hunter in there. No, I meant what about your letter. What'd it say?"

I recite the exact same thing I said to Mike and unfortunately Tyler and Jessica believe me as much as he did.

"Let me see it," she demands, one hand out impatiently.

"I didn't bring it with me but I know what it said. Just let it go."

"No. You must've read it wrong. It's either that or you're too ashamed of what you're doing to tell me." Her face lights up in sadistic glee at the thought. "Oh, that's it, isn't it? _You_ got the job as a janitor."

"No I didn't," I snap more briskly than ever before. Suddenly I just can't handle these people anymore and I stand. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Mike, can you take me home? I've lost my appetite."

"I'll take you home when you tell us what you really got," he says. Waving a hand towards my chair he invites me to sit back down without a word.

I don't.

I head straight out the front door and make the long journey back home on foot.

* * *

I spend the rest of my week of freedom alone with Charlie, who I've been trying to call 'Dad' every second I can because it makes him happy. Some days it feels more I'm counting down to my own death rather than moving out to start my new life.

"You leave tomorrow," he says over dinner on our last night together. He's been saying something similar every night for the last week.

"Yep," I nod sulkily, wishing she'd stop. Seeing my empty room and wearing the same clothes every day has been more than enough of a reminder. It's just been him and me as well for the entire week. Since the argument, if it could be called that, with my 'friends' I haven't been in contact with them, and they haven't tried to contact me.

We're all probably too busy to bother with petty, teenage dramas.

"I went out to the jewelers before coming home." Charlie stands and walks over to his police satchel.

"Oh, Dad. You didn't," I say as he pulls out a long, thin black box from the bag.

My eyes water when he gently hands it to me. With a little trepidation I open the velvet box and release a small gasp upon the sight of the long, delicate chain lying inside. I'm not much of a jewerly sort of girl, but it's beautifully feminine, gorgeous, and much too expensive for someone on his salary.

"How... You know I didn't... I love it. Thank you so much."

Charlie's a proud man of little means and I know this wasn't an easy purchase for him, so I tamper down any and all thoughts of protest that cross my mind and accept the beautiful necklace with sincere appreciation. I pick it up softly, so very carefully, and drape it over my left hand. The gold is wonderfully cold. At the very end of the chain I notice hangs a small pendant: stag antlers.

"Now, I know you're not a boy," Charlie starts when I pick up the pendant to examine it closer. "But I saw the antlers and really thought of you. My daughter, the beautiful doe. I bought it so whenever you saw this you'd remember how proud I am of you. No matter what you decide to call yourself."

I give him a wet kiss on the cheek while hugging him and ask him to put the necklace on me.

"It's beautiful," I say softly when I glance at my reflection in the mirror. The chain elongates my already slim neck, giving it the graceful outline not unlike that of a swan. "But I may not be able to wear it at work."

"Then you can keep it hidden in your room."

No, if I can't wear it while cleaning then I'll keep in it my pocket. I never want to part with such a beautiful gift.

* * *

The platform for the train leaving town the next day is modestly crowded with families saying goodbye to their children, tourists, and the general public. Thankfully I don't see Mike anywhere in the crowd despite the fact we're headed to the same place. Maybe the military was able to pick him up in style.

As a maid there's no way I'd have the luxury of someone coming all the way to my small town to bring me to Forks in a limousine or car. Instead I've been given the timetable I need to get on the train so that I arrive there promptly, because although I need the train to get to Forks, I've been generously given a chauffeur for the ride directly to the manor from the station.

I stand with my suitcase in one hand and Charlie's hand in my other as we wait for the train to roll in. The butterflies are going crazy in my stomach, which in turn is making me slightly tingly, dizzy, and nauseous but I push that far, far down. I can't run away from this now. Both Charlie and I could get into a lot of trouble if I did and I'm not willing to risk his safety for my own fears of the unknown.

_Things might be great,_ I try to reassure myself. _A new chapter in my life. A fresh start._

At a quarter to one, the train finally pulls into the station and I let go of Charlie to clutch at my suitcase with extremely sweaty hands. It almost tumbles out of my grip through the wetness of my palms alone. A single whistle sounds out from the train after all the departing passengers get off.

"All aboard!" the station master calls out. "The W8 express line heading straight to Forks' station!"

"Bella, wait," Charlie murmurs before I can take a step towards my train. "You have to remember..."

"To call everyday. I'll try, Dad."

"Not that," he whispers, leaning in uncomfortably close so others can't catch our words. "Don't ever switch forms. You don't have the privacy of the forest there. There's no protection. I'm not Police Chief there in case anything goes wrong, so don't risk it at any time. When you come back for the holidays you can head back down to the Reservation to switch but not a moment before."

"I won't, Dad," I whisper just as softly. "I can't control her anyway, I wouldn't risk my future on her."

He nods solemnly and takes a step back, ushering me to get on the train before it leaves. Without hesitation I drop my suitcase to step forward and hug him one last time.

"I love you," I say softly. "I'll call you all the time if I can. I promise."

"I know you will. I love you too, kiddo. Also call me if this Cullen character even looks at you the wrong way. I'll set him straight."

"Sure, Dad."

With only a single look back to him I drag my suitcase onto the train and find an empty row of seats to wait out the long journey to Forks. As the train pulls out of the station I catch a glimpse of Charlie, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, waving goodbye from the platform in my general direction.

He can't see my through the window panes so trying to wave back would be in vain. I try to settle back into my seat and not think about him, not think about how alone he'll feel when he drives back to an empty house and orders in pizza after pizza for dinner. Not think about anything except my destination.

Forks. My new home.


	4. New Arrival

"Last call for passengers departing at Forks' station!"

I'm abruptly pulled out of my deep sleep by the loud, blaring voice on the intercom and stumble off my seat — still half asleep in that drowsy in-between state — to quickly grab at my suitcase. Struggling for a few seconds I manage to get it down from the overhead compartment and race through the couple of people that are lingering about in the train's hallway.

"Excuse me! Sorry," I mumble as I bump into a few of them. My legs feel too numb to gracefully avoid them. "Sorry. _Sorry_! _Oomph!"_

I trip on my way out and land in a heap on the station platform. A few people turn my way, either smiling in amusement at my clumsiness, or turning away in second-hand embarrassment for me. With a bright red face I gingerly stand up and pat myself down.

Not a great first impression in my new city.

As I right myself, and pick up my suitcase, I scan the area for what to do next. My letter said I'd be meeting someone in the station to take me to the manor but how do I find them? After a good minute of standing around doing absolutely nothing I start to head to where the biggest crowd is.

"Excuse me?" I ask one someone who's wearing some type of uniform and looks official. "Do you know if there's a designated pick up zone for new graduates?"

"I don't think so, Ma'am," he responds. "But just outside the station, about three hundred metres that way, is a taxi rank. It's roughly twenty dollars for a ten minute ride."

"Oh. I... I didn't bring any money with me."

"You don't have any money at all?" the uniformed man says with a frown. He scans over me, probably taking in my very cheap clothing and favourite but worn pair of converse shoes. "I can't help you then. Try somewhere else."

I thank him with an uneasy smile and continue to search around the station. As I near the exit, I see a small, pale woman with black hair styled short, who has her head down on a table as though she's taking a short nap in the middle of a busy station.

She's clearly not sleeping as her head is rocking back and forth along the tabletop, and as I get closer I can hear her groaning and mumbling in nonsensical tones. I'm about to leave her to her ramblings when I see what it is she's leaning on, faintly making out the end part of 'lla Swan' on a thick sheet of cardboard.

"Hey!" I exclaim in surprise.

Her head snaps up, her full face of makeup is just slightly running, and there's a streak of inky blackness smeared across her forehead from where she was resting.

I point at the board as I read the rest of it. "That's me. Isabella Swan."

" _You're_ Isabella Swan?" she says, looking me up and down. "No kidding?"

"No kidding. Are you who I'm supposed to meet to get to Mr. Cullen's manor?"

"Yes!" she cries out and jumps up spritely. Her short hair sticks up in various places making it look like she's been electrocuted. "Where have you _been_? I've been waiting for you, holding that sign up with a smile, for over two hours. My jaw is aching something fierce!"

I gesture towards the area where the train just took off while she rubs her jaw. "I only got here a few minutes ago! I was told to arrive at this time. It said so on my letter, I was just following what it said. I'm sorry, I would've come earlier but I was trying to be here at the right time."

"Relax. It's no big deal," she says, stretching out with a yawn. "Mistakes happen. I'm Alice by the way. The chef of your new home." She holds out a dainty hand which I shake instantly.

"Hi, Alice. I'm Isabella, as you know already," I ramble. "You can call me Bella. By the way, you have a bit of black on your forehead."

She rubs fiercely at her head. It doesn't budge. "All gone?"

As I shake my head she shrugs her shoulders. "Oh well. I'll just have to make it a fashion statement. Follow me!"

"So, you're the house chef as well as the chauffeur?" I pick up my suitcase and follow her out of the train station and towards her very expensive looking car. It's a sports model of some type, wide and low to the ground.

"There's no real need for a chauffeur as hardly anybody comes and goes, but I frequently need to go to the market place for recipe ingredients. The amount of food I need to cook to feed everyone is disgusting, and I'm possibly the only one in the house trustworthy enough to use the car to go buy everything."

Alice helps me lug my heavy suitcase up into the back of the fancy car and opens the front door for me to slide in. The black leather seats let my body sink right into their firmly cushioned depths. The car has so many screens and buttons that I don't attempt to figure out what they're all for but it's clear that this car must cost as much as Charlie's entire house.

"Where exactly is the manor?" I ask Alice after she slides in and buckles up.

She revs up the engine, which purrs magnificently and simply lets it sit, thrumming underneath us softly for a few seconds. "Sorry, Bella, I can't say."

"You can't say?"

"I'm under a confidentiality agreement to not disclose the exact location but trust me, the minute we're there you'll know it. It won't take very long."

"A confidentiality agreement just for its location? That doesn't sound promising. I don't have to put on a blindfold so I don't know where we're going, do I?"

"No no," she laughs lightly. "Nothing like that. Don't be nervous, this is just how standard government contracts work. I've signed off on so many of them it's hard to keep track but they're all the same."

If anything, her words of encouragement make me that much more nervous. Government contracts? "I hope this doesn't sound rude, but why would a chef need to sign so many contracts?"

"I do have a life outside of work, you know."

My face burns and I stammer out an apology.

"I'm teasing you," she laughs again. Her laugh is light and airy, like bell chimes that whistle during summer. "You're cute. Tell you what, I'll tell you all about my contracts tomorrow night over dinner after you've settled in."

"Cool, I don't have to pay for dinner, right?"

Giving me a quick glance she half smiles. "You'll definitely be paying for your dinner through your work, but no. You generally won't need any money for things in the... the house. Food, blankets, and most necessities are all paid by default and then there's your very small allowance which won't be much but after a while you'll be able to buy small fun things. I usually get makeup, clothes, and toiletries. I can never think of anything else I need or want."

When I nod, she turns up the music — some type of electronic house music that I'll never be able to get into because of my sensitive hearing — and blasts the air conditioner. I settle back into the plush leather and let the rhythm of the road and the pulsing techno music calm my nerves as I take in the scenery.

Forks in comparison to my home town is a lot more modern. The buildings stand extremely tall with reflective windows and skyscrapers. People walk down both sides of the streets in suits and pencil skirts, all talking away or messaging on their phones. There's not a tree in sight that hasn't been planted for aesthetic appeal nor is there a patch of dirt anywhere. There's also no rubbish at all.

Likely it's all completely artificial but the feeling isn't entirely unwelcoming.

"I thought this place would be dirty," I say distractedly. "It's so clean and sterile here."

"You're a small-town country girl, aren't you?"

"Suburban."

"Same thing," Alice says with a smile. "This is how a city or town is supposed to be when there's no children or animals roaming around to make a mess."

My gaze wanders to the skies and apart from a few sparse clouds there's no sign of wildlife. "The children part I understand because we're in the business sector but there are no animals either? Not even birds or stray dogs?"

Alice clears her throat and rubs her neck uncomfortable with one hand, her other tightening on the wheel. "That's right, journalists were banned from reporting on it."

I wait but she doesn't elaborate quickly enough for my curiosity. "From reporting on what?"

"Do you remember three years ago when all the Feras died in the Hunt except for that one guy who was an ant? And he burrowed under a thin layer of dirt so the Hunters were confused with what their radars were showing and by the time they worked it out the guy had found the finish line and was accepting his new military uniform already?"

"No, I don't watch the Hunt."

She raises one thin eyebrow and gives me a long side glance. "You don't have the stomach for it, hey? I don't either. I'm pretty blood-phobic. Ant guy got the public thinking about how easily it would be for a Fera to remain undetected. Usually we only hear about the interesting ones: the dinosaurs or mythological creatures or massive animals like elephants and rhinos. But no-one previously thought about what a man who could turn into an ant or a stray cat could do. Maybe that harmless fly listening in on an important meeting was really a secret spy from another country."

"That sounds like paranoia," I mumble.

Alice just shrugs. "They worked themselves up over the idea though, and a few days later they started shooting down the birds, spraying any bugs they saw, and killing strays. It only lasted a few hours but the damage was massive. I haven't seen any come back to the business sector since."

"God," I breathe and my eyes water. "That sounds horrific. I think I'd rather live in my dirty, messy town."

"I think I would too."

We drive in a comfortable silence. Before not too long the scenery of businesses, tall buildings, and sterile urban streets are replaced with clusters of tall trees and rocky dirt paths. The trees that shoot up into the sky remind me so strongly of back home that for a split second I get an unfamiliar pang of homesickness.

I wish it was Charlie driving me in.

"Almost there," Alice says cheerfully.

We deviate from the rocky dirt path onto a completely unmarked path and there's absolutely no houses, buildings, or residences in sight now. There are trees and forestry around us but unlike the forest back home, these trees look very artificial the more I take notice of them – _too_ perfect – and purposely placed. These trees haven't been growing here naturally.

_Is nothing in this city natural?_

Somebody has designed this fake forest with care but didn't bother to make it look very inviting. In fact, the further we drive in the more I distinctly get the impression that the designer wanted people to stay away from this place. It's the sort of dark forest that fairy tale witches live in to lure in unsuspecting children. The dense, dark thicket of the trees feel ominous as they block out the little light from the Sun that shines down.

"Creepy," I whisper. My hand finds the door handle and I loosely grip it. Just in case.

"It's even worse at night."

Eventually the trees becomes a little sparser, thinning out just a little, and the unmarked path becomes smooth concrete. While it still doesn't look very inviting, the Sun is able to shine down here and there to give the fake forest the slightest hint of life and warmth through the canopy.

I breathe a tremendous sigh of relief when I see a mansion in the distance and relax my hands from the handle. Okay, Edward Cullen is simply a recluse living in a forest. No problem. I'm a recluse as well, maybe we'll hit it off.

"Here we are," Alice says as we pull up to a very large, modern gate complete with cameras and monitors. The gate extends left and right as far as my eyes can see. A symbolic barrier between my old life and my new one. "Welcome home."

An old woman's face appears on one of the monitors, haggard and worn, but I pay no attention to her or Alice as they start talking. I'm in far too much awe of the mansion that lays beyond the gates.

Mansion itself is too soft of a word to use for this monstrosity. It's far from a manor — it's a castle. It looms far in the distance but even from here I can see it's made of large slabs of stone so completely different to the bricks and wood that make up regular houses. Its ancient design, with the pointed roof tips and several lookout towers, makes me think it has to be several hundred years old at the least.

This is what I'm to help clean? It will take me a week just to move from one side of it to the other, let alone scrub its floors and its thousands of windows. Mr. Cullen must employ hundreds of staff at the very least to keep it running.

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?" Alice says as the gate opens up.

"That's one way to put it." It gets more intimidating as we drive forward. "This all belongs to one man? What on Earth does he need so much space for?"

"He doesn't need this much space, really. Even for what he does it's too much. We all like to joke that he's just compensating." She gives me a sly wink.

"Compensating? For what?" I ask in confusion.

_Oh_. It hits me a second too late and I flush in embarrassment.

"I'll say it again, you're cute," she says with a small laugh. "You'll fit right in. Anyone gives you trouble you send them right to me." She tries to flex with one arm, keeping the other on the wheel.

She's no bodybuilder but she has a respectable amount of muscles on her otherwise small frame. A very small bulge on her bicep pops up.

"Thank you," I tell her sincerely. So far one-hundred percent of the people I've met that I'll be working with don't hate me. It's a good start. "Do you think there'll be much trouble?"

We make it to the front of the manor-slash-castle and she cuts off the engine before turning to fully face me. "Absolutely not. I was kidding. You have nothing to fear in here so long as you obey the rules. That's very important, okay? Follow the rules."

"Follow the rules. Got it."

"I'm serious, Bella. Don't follow them to the best you can, follow them to the letter. What Edward — the Master, Lord, and Overseer — lacks in patience he makes up for in temper."

"The Master? Lord? You mean Mr. Cullen? Do I have to call him that?" I ask, barely containing a shudder. The word fits the old-timely feel of the place but the doe in me is kicking up a storm at the thought of calling any human male her master. I shove her back down into that unknown place she resides in.

"He enjoys it," Alice shrugs.

She unlocks the car doors and I gingerly hop out, peeling my sticky top off the leather that it's stuck to.

Now that I'm right in front of the place, I can see the grime coating the windows and the stray vines crawling up the cracks in the stone. There's no garden or grass around the front surrounding the driveway, just dirt and gravel. Craning my head upwards it's obvious the top section is in even worse shape.

This place definitely needs some upkeep. I have my work cut out for me.

"I've got your bag," Alice calls out. "You go ahead and ring the doorbell."

Facing the door it's clear even that is going to be a struggle. There are so many gadgets on the thing I'm a little afraid to even try.

My finger hovers over one of them, the one that looks the most round and pressable, when the door swings inwards and a man's tall body fills my vision.

"Who are you?" he demands instantly, his eyes narrowing.

A man that handsome with his tall, slim build and perfectly sculptured face bordering on feminine shouldn't be so intimidating and yet here I am, more nervous than I've ever been just at the sound of his voice. His presence is so dominating and more than a little scary.

My baser instincts knows the difference between dominance in a male that's protective and safe, and dominance that's cruel, brutish and aggressive. Whatever this man is all of those instincts are screaming that he's not the safe kind and they've never steered me wrong before.

I try to point to Alice to show I'm not alone. "My name's Isabella Swan. I'm the new domestic assistant? I'm here to see Mr. Cullen."

"Do you have identification?"

"Um," I pat down my shirt and then my pants, pulling out a worn laminated card. "Just an old school ID, if that's okay. I never got my driver's lic—"

He snatches the card out of my hand without a word and peers down. Then his narrowed, dark eyes give my body a once over and his mouth twists into a leer that completely ruins his good looks. "You were expected hours ago."

There's an awkward pause and it takes all my willpower not to shuffle. "Yes, I think there was a mix up about train times in my letter. It said—"

He holds his hand up to stop me and gestures behind him with his head. "You're pretty enough, I suppose. Well, get in here then. There's work to do. I'm not going to feed you if you can't pull your weight."

Work already? There's always the customary one-week adjustment period for students who had to travel away from home. Considering we'll be here for the majority of our lives I think they could at least give us that week to settle in.

"Okay," I say meekly as he gives me enough room to maneuver inside.

What a mind trip. While the outside is dirty, grimy, and has the look of a medieval castle the inside is absolutely clean and modern. A few people are rushing around carrying equipment and the faint hum of electricity covers the area from hanging wires. High above on the ceiling are several surveillance cameras that constantly move and the few doors I can see from here, connected to the foyer, are made from a type of metal or steel.

"My name is Edward Cullen but if you need to address me you will call me Master, because this is what I am to you. Do you understand?" Edward asks, closing the door with a thud behind me.

_This is Edward Cullen?_ I cover my gasp with a fake smile. He's much younger than I thought he'd be. Late twenties would be my guess, and I'd also guess that he's inherited this place from his parents. No way anyone under thirty who's been assigned a career could afford such luxuries that quick.

I nod quickly. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Um, yes, M-Master?" Bile crawls up my throat at his look of triumph.

"Better. Now, do you have a preferred name, Isabella?"

"Oh, yes. Most people call me Bella so I'd prefer that, please."

He reaches forward to run a long, cold finger through the bottom of my loose curls. "Yes, I remember your profile now, _Isabella_. It claimed you were obedient to authority, that you were able to take orders well. Is this true?"

Silently nodding I'm able to get my hair free by pretending to look around. He may be surprisingly handsome and obviously rich, but his touch sends shivers of disgust through me and Jane Doe wants to break free in terror at his nearness.

"Good. Follow me." He strides forward to begin climbing the marble staircase directly in front of us. It's beautiful but quickly loses its charm halfway up. I'm too unfit for this many stairs.

"Your profile also mentioned specifically that you weren't very bright. A bit of a dunce," Edward continues, not at all out of breath. "Is this also true?"

I try not to grit my teeth in anger as I huff out, "That is true, sir. I never made good grades."

He stops suddenly on a step to face me and I grab at the rail to balance myself.

"Not minutes here and already you test my limits, girl. It said you were docile, especially to authority and _I'm_ the authority here."

I don't say anything, too bewildered to speak. What does he want from me? My silence must anger him because the next second he grabs my jaw hard enough to bruise. I dig my fingernails into the railing in order not to take a step back and break my neck.

"I'm not sir," he hisses low. "Say it."

Taking a not-so-wild guess I'm able to whimper out a pathetic, "Master?"

He lets go of me and continues his ascent up as if nothing happened. I look back at a few of the other staff who gathered to watch the new girl get put in her place. They give a weary smile and nod before scurrying off. Apparently this mustn't be too uncommon.

It takes several seconds before I'm able to catch my breath enough to follow him up, rubbing my jaw as I go.

_You can do this,_ I tell myself. _He's simply a textbook narcissist — that much is clear. Just call him Master, kiss his arse, and everything will be fine. Follow the rules. Follow the rules._

The first floor of the mansion is decorated much like the ground level. Lots of wires, a bit of electric humming, steel doors and steel cameras. It's also impeccably clean. For a moment I let myself hope that I'm not even needed here, that Edward will realise there's more than enough people to clean his precious manor and I'll be sent home and reassigned to a new position. But hope is a dangerous thing though and I push down the thought of leaving.

We pass one room with its door wide open and I deliberately fall behind to snoop.

A man is sitting at a sleek desk with three large monitors propped up along it. I don't understand what's on two of them, some type of running script or code, along with a virtual map of the entire country, but the first screen shows flashes of news reports from different stations switching every few seconds. The news reports don't stay on the screen long enough for me to see what they're about so I don't bother lingering.

I catch up to the boss before he realises I've fallen behind. I already know from our few sentences spoken that he's the sort of man who would happily punish a servant girl and I won't give him any more opportunities to do so with me unless they're completely necessary. This is my fresh start and I'm not going to let him ruin it.

We walk in relative silence with only the sound of background noise and shoes clicking between us. I keep my head low and posture submissive, just in case he turns around wanting to display some more aggressive behaviour. I'm so _tired_ of human men and their aggression.

When we stop he leads me into a study-like area. Beautifully decorated with wood, pine, and antique furniture the room is cozy and a far cry from the modernized sections outside. There's not a single security camera in here. It feels more like some remote cabin out in the middle of nowhere free from all technologies of the outside world.

Suddenly I'm very nervous. Why would such a man bring a new working girl into a camera-less room?

I try to take a step back but can feel him hovering right behind me. "Move forward."

With an intimate hand on my lower back Edward pushes me forward towards his desk as he moves around it to the other side. Clicking open one of the drawers he pulls out a stack of paper and drops it. It hits the wood with a loud bang, not bouncing at all because of the sheer weight from it.

"Sign the first page," Edward orders, holding out a fancy calligraphy pen. "Then I'll take you on a tour of where you'll be working and living. Nothing happens until your name's on this."

I pick up the stack of paper. God, it's massive; I can barely hold it up. Thumbing through the pages quickly nothing seems to stick out on what it's about. It's full of technical jargon and rights and 'henceforth's and 'hereby's.

"Can I take this with me to read before I sign it?" I ask, knowing immediately doing so is a mistake. I shouldn't give this man any leeway to say no. "I can't sign something without knowing what it's about first."

His teeth grind together. "It's a standard confidentiality clause stating you won't go around talking your mouth off about things you see or hear in here."

"Why would you need this? What could a maid mouth off about?"

I flip through as much as I can, absorbing all the information possible in case he decides to pull it away and fake my signature anyway. Opening it to another random page in the middle something catches my eye that makes me gasp.

_Homo feras. Enclosures. Control._

"What's this about?" I whisper, leaning so close to read it that my long hair skims the table. "Feras? Why are those… those animals mentioned in a confidentiality clause?"

Sweat beads my forehead as the possibilities of it starts to become a reality. No, no, no. Does this man work for the FC? Does he control the organisation? A castle-mansion like this doesn't come cheap. Does he finance the Hunts?

"Sign it," Edward repeats harshly through clenched teeth, forcing the pen in my shaking grip and closing my fingers around it tight. He presses my head down closer to the paper until my nose almost touches it. "Then we'll play nice and talk."

"Please, I'll sign it, I just want to read it first. I need to understand."

He pushes my head down and back up in jerking motions, keeping pressure of my neck, almost like he's trying to shake sense into me.

_This is illegal!_ I want to scream. _Abusive coercion. Manipulative tactics. Human bastard._

"The _help_ doesn't get the luxury of understanding anything."

His unrelenting grip tightens and I cry out in pain.

"Sign it."

I obey, shakily signing my name away on the dotted line.


	5. A Living Nightmare

"Good girl."

Edward straightens and backs away from me, smoothing back his perfectly gelled hair. Shoving the documents back into the drawers without any concern he snaps it shut and locks it.

"Now for the tour," he says. His fast changing moods between passive and aggressive is making my head spin. Or maybe that's the lack of oxygen from his tight grip on my neck. "This way. Quick, quick."

He allows me only a moment to collect myself before urging me back out into the hallway. My head's still spinning and the world seems fuzzy. The walls both loom and turn as though I'm on a ship and my wobbling legs make it hard to stand.

"This is the first floor of my manor," he says."You're not allowed up here without _my_ express permission. Nor are you allowed on any floors above this one. Severe punishment will apply if you step foot where you're not granted permission to."

I nod, unwilling to open my mouth in case my breakfast tumbles out. I follow his route back downstairs, gripping the staircase's rail with all my might until my knuckles turn bone white.

"And this is the ground floor. You'll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner here. Eating times are at six, twelve, six. If you miss those times you don't eat, it's very simple. I like order here, as you will quickly find. You can also shower on this floor, and clean your laundry and uniform, which has already been laid out on your bed." He gives me a stern look. "All essentials come out of your pay, as do your food, board, laundry powder and anything you deem to use. So do _not_ think you can waste a single item I see fit to give you or I'll have it removed. I'm not unwillingly to remove food privileges if you need punishment, so let's not bring it to that."

"Yes, Master," I manage to croak out.

"The kitchens," he continues, ignoring me completely and pointing in a general direction. "The eating hall is over there, women's showers are down that corridor, the general laundry room is passed the showers and the entertainment room for staff is over there. The rest of this floor is off limits. Any questions?"

I have no idea where any of those rooms actually are but I'm sure I can find my way when I need them. "Where is my room and the bathroom? What exactly is my job here?"

_What rights did I just sign away?_

His smile — with his too perfectly white teeth — turns nasty. "One question at a time. You have your own bathroom. It's connected to your room and that would be on the first level underneath this one."

"Underneath?"

"Underneath. Will that be a problem?"

I shake my head quickly. Hopefully the underneath levels are for servants and he'll never want to come down there to mingle with us lowly servants.

"Good. Follow me."

He leads me down to an offside area, hidden away passed the main foyer, that has a single elevator in its wall. Compared to the rest of the rooms the elevator looks ancient. Dangerous. His thin finger punches at the closest button.

"Ladies first," he says, as the elevator doors ding open. I hop in and leave as much room as I can between us. He hovers a white card over a sensor and presses the button for level -1.

"You'll have one of these waiting for you in your room so you can use the elevator," he continues. "It's monitored of course, so we know exactly where you're going and when. We also monitor the weight of the passengers in the elevator so don't get any hair brain ideas."

Like what, getting pregnant? Eating too much at breakfast?

When the doors re-open the first thing that hits is the stench. The completely foul, almost unbreathable stink that fills the air. I gag, covering my mouth and nose entirely but it's no good, I can still smell it.

I breathe through my mouth but instead _taste_ the pungent odour.

"I would say you get used to it, but that's a lie," Edward smirks. "This is the only exit on the whole floor and there's no stairs or fire escapes. My legal team would have a heart attack if they knew so don't go running your mouth off. You've signed away that right."

I don't mind so much that there's only one exit, assuming that exit doesn't break down. What's a more pressing concern right now is that an underground level will have no windows to open to get rid of this foulness in the air. I can't live in this. My entire first week's salary will have to go towards air fresheners.

Edward directs me through a series of, unsurprisingly, steel corridors, each one completely identical to the last, until I barely remember where I started. He talks a bit about what we're passing but mostly just to say 'this is off limits, _Isabella_ '. The entire level is somehow freezing despite the warmth only one level above, and there's no heating to warm it up.

I make a mental note to not walk around after showering, scared that my skin will stick to the metal surface and rip with each step. There's also no overhead wires like there was above ground, only a few built-in lights that flicker ominously in my panicked mind.

"This is your room," Edward says when we stop again. "You have your toilet and sink connected adjacent but the showers are upstairs."

I peer inside. It's not as cold and sterile as I expected, judging by the rest of the rooms we passed. It's a very tiny space that's made up of a single bed, a small chestnut wardrobe, and a bathroom and sink in the connecting room. Best of all, there's a mini electric heater that sits in the corner, plugged in and ready to go.

The wallpaper is bright purple and the quilt on top of the bed is multicoloured. A crisp, black uniform lays on top of a white pillow.

"Thank you," I tell him sincerely. It's not much but it could've been a lot worse. I spot the access card at the foot of the bed and quickly stash it in my pocket. "I'll keep everything spotless."

He dismisses it with a wave of his elegant hand. "Don't waste too many of my resources keeping things clean. The uniform's black because it's too hard to get blood stains out of white."

"Blood?" I gasp. The sight of blood makes me queasy and always riles up Jane. Blood means danger is around — it means others have been wounded by a predator, or worse, _I'm_ wounded.

"Work smart and you won't get any on you. If the uniform doesn't fit ask one of the ladies for a sewing kit and fix it yourself."

He shuts my room's door and swipes the lock with his card. "See? Nice and secure. Your card will unlock some doors on this level."

"Do any of the other workers have rooms around here?"

"No. Their rooms are on the first floor as they are closer to their workspace that way. Your work is on this floor only."

Great. I'll be all alone in this cold, scary, smelly steel deathtrap then.

"Now, for our pièce de résistance here," Edward says, shivering in what appears to be excitement. His pale white face almost flushes with colour. "This way."

We pass through more identical corridors and two locked doors that look like they belong in a bank vault more than a mansion while Edward points out what's what.

"Guards' rooms there. Equipment and storage there. Weapons storage through there. You won't have access to any of those rooms. That's far too high-level access for a maid. You will have limited access to the veterinary clinic, however, which is through that hall to the right. You can't miss it."

"A veterinary clinic?" I think aloud.

I know I should be prepared, all the signs were there. Hell, I signed away on a million-page document containing the words _confidential_ and _Fera._ Still, when Edward opens the heavy door we stop in front of I realise there's nothing that could have properly prepared me for the sight that lies inside.

Four extremely large cages line up against the back wall. Each one separated by barely a few feet and inside them… inside are numerous, smaller cages, not three metres wide with _men_ locked up inside. There's blood, vomit, and other substances in most of the cages and even splattered up high on the outer walls. The horrid stench I've been smelling since I arrived on this level is most pungent here and now I realise why.

In a state of complete shock I take in their faces. Most turn away at the sight of us, but a few brave ones glare and grip their bars in fury. Oh my _god_.

"Our country's hope! Our very own ferals," Edward laughs, throwing his arms out, proud of the horrific sight that stands before him. "Isn't it beautiful?"

" _Feras_ ," I whisper in mute horror. My throat is tight. I can't breathe. I can't think.

I'm in the Fera's den. This isn't possible, I can't be here. Oh my god, I can't be _here!_

Jane kicks up somewhere deep inside me. It's my fear response. I'm about to change into her right here and now if I can't get myself under control. Black spots dance in front of my eyes as I take in shallow, ragged breaths.

It's too much.

My knees buckle ever so slightly.

The old, dried blood on the walls, and the look of hopelessness on so many of the Fera's face make it all too real.

This is where they're tortured, beaten, and trained to be our unique soldiers. Tested on like lab rats. The men I've been thinking about all my life are now feet away from me. Locked in cages. Glaring at me with the utmost hate or turned away with fear. Fear of me... a human as far as they know.

Jane kicks up again and I place my hand firmly against my stomach, like I can physically contain her breaking out. Now more than ever I need to get in control.

She can never come out. Especially here in the middle of the lion's den.

Never.

_Focus on the anger instead,_ I tell myself. _You're angry. You're not scared. Angry._

Bile rises in my throat and I almost choke on it trying to force it back down. If only Charlie can see me now. See how all my hard work at being _average_ has paid off.

Edward looks at me expectantly.

"I asked you a question," he hisses.

"What?" I choke out. I can smell the puke on my breath. At least I haven't wet myself.

"I said isn't it beautiful?" His voice is calm but it's the type of calm that precedes a vicious storm. There's murder in his eyes and he's daring me to answer wrong.

"Oh." My mouth is too dry, my stomach is clenching so heavily in on itself that I can't get enough oxygen into my lungs to speak in complete sentences. "Yes. Beautiful."

Flushing in shame at my agreement I face the other way, unable to meet any of the men's heated gazes any more. This is a nightmare. Worse than that because one can wake up from nightmares.

What do I do?

What do I _do?_

"Aren't you forgetting something?" The look in Edward's eyes is murderous and I just want him to leave so I can throw up in peace. "Hm, maid?"

That domineering bastard.

"It's beautiful. Master," I whisper. The cold walls echo each word clearly and I know the men around us can hear me. What they must think of me.

"We've got the eighteen year olds over there," Edward continues without pause, pointing to the large cage to the far left. "Nineteen year olds in this cage. Twenty year olds here, and in this one, are this year's game for the Hunt. Delicious twenty-one."

He forces me to walk to the cage on the far right, passing the weary teenagers and twenty year olds who have nearly all turned their heads to watch. There's absolutely no space for privacy.

"Gentleman," he says, unlocking the last cage and pushing me in hard. It's by far the most bloody and dirty one here. "Say hello to Miss Swan."

Their own individual cages are sectioned off, leaving plenty of walking room around their enclosure. Four line up on the left side of the large cage and four line up along the other. Eight men in total. Eight is a _lot_ of Fera men for a single year.

"The older they get the more stubborn they become," Edward grumbles at their silence. "Sometimes you have to show them who's in control."

He hovers his finger over a button that's situated on a panel next to one of the male's door, satisfaction obvious on his face from the flinch the man inside gives.

"Hello, Miss Swan," the man inside mumbles reluctantly as he eyes Edward's finger.

"Too little, too late, creature. A small demonstration for the girl," Edward says slyly and pushes down the button.

A heavy zap sounds out as the floor lights up with electrical pulses, shimmering bright white before fading away. The man inside grunts out in pain and collapses to the floor in a ball, twitching and shaking.

My eyes find the ground, unable to watch as the man writhes in pain, tossing and turning.

"You can train them just as you can any other dog," Edward laughs and I hear him press the button again. Bright white fills my vision and even when I close my eyes the harsh light pierces my eyelids. The man finally screams in pain before falling silent.

"Feel free to use it any time you're in here," he continues. "They look at you funny. Zap. Give you lip? Long zap. They get rough? Get a guard to come in and shoot them. I don't particularly care with the older ones. They've killed their last two keepers without even leaving their bones for us to bury, so we're not taking any more chances. Just leave enough of them alive to give the public a good Hunt."

I swallow harshly determined not to look at the twitching man panting heavily on the ground. "They killed their keepers?"

"Too much testosterone in the air," Edward says with another long glance over my body. I don't dare glance down to see if the coldness has affected any other parts of me. "But since you're female, a rather nice one at that, maybe the animals will give in to another instinct rather than murder."

My eyes find the floor again. I don't want to know what the males think of that. I can only hope they think of me as a simple domestic assistant and hate me mildly for being 'human'. I can handle hatred. Right now I even hate myself.

"As for what you're to do; you'll be in here everyday to clean their rooms out and give them some puppy chow. Bags of our own leftovers will be dumped down into the chute you can find in the storage rooms, so you can feed them with that or let them starve." He gestures to the slot in the cage doors that look just big enough for a tray to pass through. "Also hose them down once a week at minimum and get rid of all the blood. The hose is in the locker over there. I'm sick of having this disgusting smell in my house. It means I can't come down for play."

It's a lose-lose situation then. Keep Edward away by leaving the men dirty, or clean them up and give them some dignity but have the _Master_ around.

"Supplies for cleaning are in the locker next to your room I pointed out earlier," he continues. "If you think they need a visit to the vet then tell me and I might call her in, depending on my mood and how well you can persuade me. In general just don't talk to them. Don't make the mistake of thinking they're like you or me, else you'll end up dead by either their hand or mine."

He takes me by the elbow and leads me out of the cage, locking it behind us.

"Any questions for me?"

"No, Master," I whisper. He opens up the main vault-door exit and like a gentleman allows me to leave first. I rush ahead, eager to get out of the room of horrors.

Once we're outside and alone Edward turns and shoves me up against a cold wall. "One more thing, Isabella," he bites out. He's close enough that I can see the golden hues in his eyes. "You ever, and I mean _ever,_ undermine my authority in front of those creatures, or _anybody_ again and I will see you ruined. Out on the streets. Jobless. Or maybe I'll throw you in with one of the animals after a few weeks of starving them. Do you understand me?"

I nod quickly. Violently, almost.

"Good." He lets me drop, running his hands inappropriately over my top to smooth down the wrinkles. "You can find your own way back to your rooms. Take the night to get used to being here. Work starts in the morning." He steps back. "It's nice to have you here, Isabella."

Somehow I manage to wait until he's completely left the corridor before I fall forward to my knees and throw up where I kneel.

I stumble to the wall to steady myself, sweating and nauseous, and make the grueling task of getting back to my room without puking further. Holding my stomach and fumbling with my access card to get through the steel doors and my own door, I finally make it.

A few more feet and I'm crashing to my knees at the edge of the bed. My head is spinning so I rest it between my legs, going down into a prayer position.

I can't be here.

_What do I do?_

I want my dad.

Resting on the cold floor, I draw my knees up to my chest and cry. Simply running away will look suspicious. More than suspicious, running from an employer can sometimes be considered illegal and I have no doubts Edward will push the illegal angle with me knowing what I know now.

Homesickness might buy me some time away but I'll be sent right back. I can't fake a disease either. Re-assignment is just not possible and to ask might anger the people who've spent all their time calculating the perfect place for each student.

How do I get out of a job they've assigned me to?

_No._

I smash my fist down next to me on the thin blanket.

_Damn it, Bella_ , I think angrily. _For once in your life you've got to be stronger than this. Get up, stop crying, and start helping these people._

Just like that, within a blink of an eye my stress and anxiety quiets to a manageable degree and I feel strong enough to stand. Nausea is still turning my stomach inside out but it's bearable.

Edward and the others have no idea what I am. They'll never know. I'm completely safe, but the others like me aren't.

Now I'm in a position of power to help. Even if it's in the slightest of ways. Out of all the students across the country it's _me_ who was picked to clean up the Feras' mess and cages.

I'm their golden ticket.

With that in mind I snatch up my uniform from the bed and change quickly in the bathroom. It fits well, not too baggy or tight, but considering the inappropriately low cut of the blouse and the skirt that sits a few inches too high for my taste, I'm guessing it's actually too big on me. Oh well. No perverted fantasies for Edward today.

It takes only five minutes for me to find the cleaning supplies in their lockers, and grab everything I need. I decide to place extra supplies on a push trolley just in case it's not enough.

Heading back the way I came the first thing I do is clean up my own vomit with a grimace.

I push the trolley up against the Fera's main enclosure door, not going in just yet. Instead, I head the opposite way towards the veterinary clinic.

"Hello?" I call out softly after opening the large steel door with my access card. "Anybody home?"

Not a sound. As fast as I can I race around grabbing handfuls of things that look useful: rolls of bandages, ointments and salves, labelled pill bottles, two first aid kits, some strange looking tongs, and other small items I don't think will be too missed. They're all beginning to carry dust at this point, and judging by the look of the men in their cages it's hard to imagine any of them have visited the 'hospital' in quite a while. I'm hoping the people in charge have stopped counting and cataloging the stuff.

Juggling the items in my apron I gracefully make my way back to the cart and dump everything on the top. With a deep breath and on shaking legs I swipe the access card through the Fera's door and push it open.

Unlike my previous visit all eyes turn to watch me come in simultaneously, in complete, eerie silence. The door thunks heavily behind me making me jump a little in fright. The disgusting smell immediately drains the fear. It's too hard to be scared when assaulted with such repugnance. The smell must be carrying through the ventilation shafts I can see on the roof to the rest of the floor.

"Hi," I whisper softly to no-one in particular. Just wanting to speak and let them know I'm not with Edward. That his beliefs are definitely not mine. "My name's Isabella. I prefer Bella but you can call me either. Or neither. You don't have to talk to me at all if you don't want to. I know if I was in your position I wouldn't."

More silence and heated looks. I stammer on. "I was assigned here because of my career letter. Please trust me when I say I don't want to be here. Well, no, I want to be here to help of course. I just mean what's being done to you isn't right and I wouldn't willingly be a part of this. I'm on your side, I promise."

"You're a sympathiser, then?" One the men in the twenty year olds' cage rasps out.

I nod easily, glad to have a human term to use, although empathiser might be a better fit. "Yes, I'm a sympathiser. The biggest one you'll ever meet."

"And the biggest idiot too if you'd admit it so freely in front of all the cameras and microphones," he says nodding to the corners of the room.

Gasping, I frantically look up to find the cameras as fear bolts through me. Sympathiser sentences are brutal and sometimes deadly. But I can't find a single camera and there are no loose wires in here. Are they hidden?

"Thought so," the man says with a bitter laugh. "Your Master doesn't use any tech here in case footage of our deaths and tortures are leaked out. Not great for the government's public image or morale if we don't have a fair shot at the Hunt. Do you honestly think you're the first to try that sympathiser crap with us? Try to gain our trust? Get the hell out of here."

"Noel. Stop," a weak voice sounds out.

It's the man that was zapped with the electric floor. His large body is limp next to his door and his head rests against its bars. Ignoring Noel and the others I head straight for the man's cage and let myself in with my card.

He's too weak to do much else than stare. The others aren't though.

"Get away from him!"

"You filthy human, I swear we'll rip you apart the second you're close to one of us who can actually fight back."

A creak of groaning metal sounds out and I look around at them in dismay. "I'm not going to hurt him! I'm trying to help. See?" Holding up some of the medical supplies with one hand I don't move until they quiet down. Kneeling down next to the tanned man I push back some of his sweaty hair. Like everyone else's it's dirty and matted. Possibly lice infested as well.

"I'm Bella. What's your name?"

His eyelids droop slightly before he murmurs, "Sam."

"I'm here to help you, Sam. I hope you can trust me when I say that. Now, I don't know how to use any of these," I say looking down at the medical tools, "but I can start with cleaning you up and we'll go from there, okay?"

I dip a washcloth into a cold bucket of water and gently clean some of the dirt and blood off his face. He's very handsome, with what would be flawless tanned skin if it wasn't for all the criss-crossing scars scattered along his body. His deep brow and wide, square jaw remind me heavily of a certain group of people.

"You're not Quileute, are you?"

He grunts in affirmation and closes his eyes while I run the wash cloth gently over his brow. I run my fingers through his hair to push it back while I dab along his hairline.

"Bear?" I ask.

"What?"

"Are you a bear?" I ask again. "From what I've heard and seen Quileute men usually become either bears or wolves."

One eye pops open as he assesses me. "Wolf."

It's well known that the Quileute peoples tend to produce men who can turn into either bears or wolves. Every other race or tribe of people have been different species of animals — from bugs to dinosaurs, but the Quileutes have always turned into one or the other.

I stop asking Sam questions so he can rest as it's clear he can only speak in one word sentences, and I finish cleaning up all I can see from his head all the way to his hips. Anything he needs to clean underneath his waist he can do himself.

Placing the majority of usable medical supplies into the corner of his room I say to the room, "If anyone needs wraps or ointment and I'm not here I've put a lot into Sam's area."

"You can say 'cage', and just how are we supposed to get it from there?" a voice pips up from the other side of the room.

"Seth," Sam huffs out with effort. "I'll throw it. Idiot."

"Don't argue," I tell Sam and lean down close next to him. "Let's get you up into your bed."

His bed isn't a bed at all, but rather a corner that houses a broken metal cot, flimsy pillow and a thin, torn sheet covered in old blood. Still, anything's better than the ground he's currently lying on and I can find some new sheets for him when he's settled in.

I grab under his arms and attempt with all my strength to lug him over but he doesn't budge one bit. Pushing and prodding doesn't move him an inch either; he must weigh well over a hundred kilos of solid muscle.

"I can't," I huff with effort. "I can't lift you up to get you to bed. You might have to sleep on the ground for now."

Sam's head lolls to the side and stares out of the cage towards the back of the room. "Get Jacob," he tells me weakly.

"Jacob?"

There's silence for a few seconds as I mull over the name, before a deep, masculine voice calls out from somewhere in the darkness. "Are you sure you trust her enough?"

"If she tells... can kill," Sam replies weakly. It's taking all his energy to speak and I shush him.

"No, no. No talks of killing me," I say, trying to talk with a bit of humour as to not show my fear. They wouldn't really kill me would they? Not when I'm trying to help. "Who's Jacob? How can I get him?"

"Back," Sam says, still looking out to the back of the room.

Standing on shaking legs I hop out of his cage — leaving the door wide open as Sam's obviously not going anywhere — and head towards the back. It's dark in this area, the light from the bulb near the door doesn't entirely light up this section of the room so it takes my eyes a few moments to adjust.

When they do though, the first thing I notice is that I was wrong about the number of cages with the twenty-one year olds. While there's eight spread out along the sides of the enclosure, all visible under the light, there's one more large one pressed up along the very back, hidden completely in the darkness. Inside I can barely make out the silhouette of a tall, large male body.

"Nine Feras?" I whisper into the darkness. Nine men in a single year — I don't think it's ever happened before. That's a lot of unlucky men to have been born on the same day with Fera traits and have been taken in.

"Open the door," the masculine voice of the silhouette demands. His voice alone sends shivers through my body and I rush to find the panel on the door so I can swipe my access card along and open it. Dimly, I make out the handle for the steel cage door but it's an old-school one, with a keyhole and lock. I tug uselessly at the door but it's made of steel or iron and is completely solid and likely indestructible.

"I can't. I don't have the key."

"Then stand back."

I instantly obey and the silhouette becomes much larger as the man walks forward to stand right up against the bars. Two large hands grip them, holding a bar in each, and he simply _pulls_ at them. The groaning sounds of steel and metal echo out as the man literally begins to pull each one out of his way, creating a hole large enough to walk out of.

As he manoeuvres out of his cage, through the heavy bars he pulled apart, he moves into the light with a single forceful step. I gasp and take another step back.

"What?" I stutter out in shock, glancing over the bent steel behind him. "That's impossible. How did you...? _Who_ are you?"

His eyes run over my shocked face and releases a short bark of laughter. "Who am I? I'm Jacob Black, leader of this pack."


	6. Little Human Girl

_Holy. Cow._

It isn't a man standing before me but a giant. An unbelievably handsome, almost barbaric looking giant. I have to crane my neck back to look into his face, meaning he's well over a foot taller than me – not particularly hard to do at my height – and definitely double my size with his strong, broad shoulders and thick, beefy thighs that aren't hidden entirely under his prisoner garb.

While Edward might look like a Greek statue with his light, flawless porcelain skin and delicately slim build, this Jacob Black is the complete opposite with his scars that are peppered over his brown skin, black hair that would hit his shoulders if it wasn't matted, and his warrior body type that looks like he could smash through a Greek statue in an instant.

My stomach clenches in unfamiliar feminine arousal at the mere thought of it. Now _this_ is a dominant male. Like the others he's wearing a black tank and simple cotton pants, that shows off his well-defined muscles.

"Like what you see, human?" Jacob smirks down at me. His tone is light but his dark eyes pierce through me with deep distrust and bitterness.

He doesn't wait for me to stutter out an answer and passes by me in a few long strides to reach Sam. Kneeling down next to him, he pokes and prods Sam's body in different areas.

"What are you doing?" I ask, still in half a daze.

"Tell me if any place is worse than the other," Jacob says, ignoring me completely. He presses his palm flat down hard again Sam's ribs and organs, feeling along his torso.

Sam shakes his head after a few moments. "No. No internal bleeding. Just need... to rest."

Jacob nods in relief and using both hands he lifts the large man off the floor as if he weighs no more than a small child. Considering Sam is almost as large as him, it's quite the scene. He takes him to the makeshift metal cot and with a gentleness that seems in conflict to his warrior image he places Sam upon it.

Jacob whispers to Sam a short phrase not in English, Quileute most likely, and reaches for the bloodied sheet at the end of the bed.

I lean over and tug it out of his slack hands before he can cover him with it.

"This isn't clean at all," I say, bundling the sheet up in my arms. They're shaking like crazy. "I don't want Sam to get even more sick. I'll find something better, something warmer and less bloodied, for him to use."

"Until you do," Jacob simultaneously yanks at the sheet and pushes me back a few steps with one forceful shove, "he will use this."

Once I regain my balance I grab the tail end of the sheet and try another tug. I can't say I know anything about medicine or health practices, but I know covering a sick man in dirty, bloodied rags can't be any good for him or his recovery.

"It'll make him more sick—"

"Human."

"But—"

He turns to me, roaring out such a monstrous, thundering sound that I can't believe it came from his human throat. A partial shift? Is that even possible?

" _ **I**_ decide what happens to _**my**_ pack!"

I whimper pathetically and some part of me, somewhere deep down, tilts my chin down and to the side, close to my shoulder as I drop the sheet. Jacob's ragged breathing eases as he takes in the smooth slope of my exposed neck.

_You should keep arguing with him,_ a voice calls out within me as the silence stretches between us. _Tell him you know better._

What on Earth? Is that Jane trying to give me possibly the worst advice I've ever heard?

But I can't help the part of me that wants to follow it. What's _wrong_ with me?

Is it simple animal instincts of trying to find my place, my ranking, within this new group of men?

I mentally groan in frustration at my thoughts. They need to get under control and quick. I've never wanted a confrontation with a man before — they're unpredictable, erratic, and dangerous. The slightest of arguments with one can result in death.

_But Jacob Black isn't just a man, now is he?_ I can't stop the thought before it races through my head. Now that it's in there I can't stop repeating it. Especially when Jacob's large hand grips my upper arm, fully encasing it from thumb to fingers, and drags me out of Sam's cage.

_Not a man._

"I will know if you have spoken a single word of this to your _master_ ," Jacob whispers in my ear. He's so tall he has to bend severely at the waist to do so. "I've killed the other keepers for a lot less. Don't think I'll go easy on you because of what's between your legs if you betray us."

"I would never do that _._ I know we… that humans aren't... Look, I know you have no reason to trust me, but no matter how long it takes I'm going to earn that trust. I promise I will. And that man is not my master." I shudder. "But I will do and say anything to keep on his good side. I've barely been here an hour and already he's the cruelest person I've ever met."

"Hm."

Jacob inhales deep before stepping away without a word or indication whether he believes me. The cold room instantly seems that much colder from the sudden loss of his thick body heat. No sound comes from the other men in the room, who I assume are either staring at us in rapt attention or trying to ignore what's happening a few feet away.

I watch in fascination as Jacob silently moves back into the darkness of his cage and pulls the bars back, arranging them into their rightful position. There's a few crooked dents in the steel that may be noticeable up close, but unless you know what to look for nothing seems out of place.

A perfect disguise.

"Why haven't you run?" I ask him, just wanting to hear him speak again.

I trail a finger down the cold bar of Sam's enclosure, pulling on it lightly to test its strength. I almost can't believe Jacob can pull them apart. Between his abnormal strength and self-confessed ability to kill, it wouldn't be hard to catch Edward and the staff off guard. I'm sure he could figure a way around the elevators as well, steal an access card off a corpse perhaps. He'd have a very good chance at leaving this hell.

Escape or die trying.

"Why haven't you?"

My brow furrows in confusion. "Why would I run? I just got here. I have no where else to go and this is where I've been assigned."

"This is where I've been assigned as well." His voice comes from the darkness and I've lost the outline of his silhouette to follow. "I suggest you run along now, little human girl."

_I'm not a human!_ I want to scream out. Never has the urge to show my true self been so strong. I can just picture the looks on their faces; their confusion, the slack jaws and wide eyes at the sight of the first _female_ Fera. If the repercussions weren't so deadly I might have tried it out just to release this terrible tension hanging around.

But I won't risk it. I promised Charlie to put myself first and I can live without the respect of these men to do that if I have to.

Run along though? He wishes. Instead I simply hop out of his – well, the twenty-one year old's cage – and head to the locker on the wall. Without a lock it simply swings open and I grab the heavy nozzle of the hose that's curled in a ball inside. It's massive. Almost too big for my hands to wrap around but I manage to lug it over to the eighteen year old's cage.

There's only one man in there. Not even a man, the guy looks more like a kid with his round chubby cheeks, messy hair, and smooth face.

I may not be making friends any time soon but I'm not here for that. I'm here to do my job. I aim the nozzle in between the cage bars.

"Woah!" the boy inside cries out. "That guy you were talking to might be an asshole but don't take it out on me!"

"Take it out on you? I don't plan on taking anything out on you and I didn't think Mr. Black was an… that." Snickers sound out from my inability to swear properly.

"Then get that thing the hell away from me."

Is he scared of water?

I peer down directly into the hole of the hose. Maybe it spurts out some horrible cleaning agent; Edward did say to use it to clean the men.

"Idiot!"

"Do it. Turn it on."

"Are you _stupid_?"

The men begin to shout and I take a step away from them. Aiming the hose at the filthiest, most bloody wall in here I begin to press down on the lever lightly, trying to get just a little bit of water running.

"Why are you all yelling? Do you want me to get rid of this smell and the blood in your cages or don't you?"

When nothing happens I press down even harder. The hose jerks forcefully in my tight grip and without warning kicks back straight into my shoulder, crushing it, and knocking me on my back as a torrent of water gushes out with the incredible force of a fighter jet. I don't even have the breath or time to scream in agony before the tears begin.

"Miss Swan?" the eighteen year old asks cautiously. "You okay?"

"It's Bella," I cry pathetically from the floor. I can't even move. My back hurts, my head hurts from the impact on the cold floor, and it feels like my shoulder's either broken or dislocated.

Everything's going wrong. This day is one big nightmare and I just can't seem to get anything right. The men I feel so much compassion for hate me already and I'll never be able to leave here. I'll always be taking care of the different rounds of men as they come and go to their deaths until I'm wrinkly and grey.

The water from the hose is slowly making its way back to where I'm lying and the second it hits my skin it feels like a thousand needles are piercing it. I can't get too wet in this freezing, cold, metal box. With an internal groan I try to sit up but quickly collapse back.

"Do you need my help already, little human girl?" Jacob's voice rings out clear and strong.

_Yes._

"No. No, I'm okay." I don't want him to think I'm completely weak and useless already. He'll come to that conclusion naturally on his own in no time and I'm not about to hasten it.

Rolling to my good side, being very careful of my aching shoulder, I gingerly get to my knees and then to wobbling feet. I push down my skirt that's ridden up, press a hand into my shoulder, and let out, to my surprise, only a tiny cry of pain.

"Maybe you should see X," the red-headed kid says.

"X?"

"The doctor."

My voice breaks. "It's okay, I can deal with this alone. It's really not that bad."

I wait several seconds to steady myself before heading to the medical tools I laid out and sift through the supplies with my left hand. I don't want to use any of the painkillers; those are best saved for the guys. God knows they'll need the medicine but I don't think there's any harm in borrowing a plain cloth bandage to create a sling if I return it when I'm finished.

As I struggle with the sling single-handedly, to the amusement and laughter of some of the men, I can't help the few solitary tears that fall. At least my back is turned so they can't see them.

"Just come here."

Jacob. I stubbornly refuse to go to him when I hear his voice _._

"No, I said I can do this."

"If you don't come here I'll have to come there, and I don't know how much more these bars can take before someone notices they're not straight."

I simply huff and use my teeth to hold the bandage out straight for wrapping. "It might be a trick. You might make it worse on purpose."

"If someone notices your fucked up shoulder they will assume one of us did it and we will be punished. I won't put my people through more than they need to go through. So, come here and let me help."

Okay, that makes much more sense than him wanting to help me out of the goodness of his heart or wanting to break my shoulder entirely. Nodding, I take the bandage from my mouth and use it to wipe away a few of the stray tears.

"And stop crying. I can smell the salt from here."

Swallowing my pride and tears I make my way back over to Jacob and stand stiffly in front of his cage. It's still hard to see him properly in this darkness but my eyes slowly begin to adjust again by the time his hands reach through and touch my shoulder.

There's no containing the small gasp at the contact. His fingers are so callous and rough that they snag on some of the fabric but they glide so gently over my shoulder that even through the material of my uniform it causes goosebumps.

He spins me around so my back is pressed against the bars and beings to knead at the contact points on my shoulder, turning it without too much force in certain directions. If he really wants to he can rip my arm clean out of its socket without breaking a sweat.

"Have you done this before?" I ask, closing my eyes involuntarily when his hands make contact with a tense muscle in my back.

"Why? Nervous the nasty feral is about to tear you limb from limb?" I turn to look at him. He doesn't bother to look at me, but pushes me back around and simply continues to work his large hands against my shoulder.

It feels incredible. If he was a regular human who landed a masseur position for his career, I might have considered visiting his parlour once or twice. I bite back a groan.

"No, you just seem like you know what you're doing."

"A dislocated joint happens sometimes when we shift."

Not to me it hasn't. "Oh."

The pain begins to ease as he moves my arm this way and that with a feather touch. His body temperature feels abnormally hot, especially against the searing cold of the underground.

"What do you shift into?" I can't contain my curiosity. It's also a nice, neutral topic that hopefully will get my mind off Jacob's fingers and body heat. "It must be a strong animal. Rhino? Or are you Quileute?"

"If your master hasn't been able to torture it out of me yet, a few nice words from the pretty maid certainly won't."

"Please don't call him that," I whisper. Pretty maid he can call me all day, but hearing him call Edward _my master_ hurts on a level I don't understand.

He turns me around and finally lifts his dark, almost black, eyes to study my face intently. He, like Sam, has a few scars that stand in contrast to his tanned skin but they somehow make him look even more handsome, in a dangerous sort of way. He's not the delicate, androgynous beauty that's in vogue.

"It was just a partial dislocation," he states. "Your shoulder may feel tight and you should rest it, but otherwise it's in working order."

"It's fixed?" I question, rolling my shoulder around in a circle. There is some tightness but it's not painful anymore, just uncomfortable.

"Thank you," I say with as much gratitude as possible. There's not many caged Feras who would help a human.

He gives a grunt in return and slides his hands back through the bars to hold them stiffly at his side. "This is hard for you, isn't it?"

The question gives me pause. "Very much, although it's not as hard as it is for you, of course. I'm petrified of being here and what they're doing to you... to all of you. It genuinely makes me sick."

"I know. I can smell the vomit on your breath. It's strong."

Oh _god._ I turn sharply, throwing one hand up over my mouth in embarrassment. How could I have forgotten to brush my teeth after being sick in the hallway? Now that it's mentioned, my sensitive nose is able to clearly pick up my smell that was previously disguised by the other disgusting odours of the room.

Jacob grabs my arm before I can try to run away in mortification.

"Don't be embarrassed," he says. "A body's reactions are much harder to lie with. We're animals here after all and having such an honest bodily response goes a lot further with us than any words. It may be the only reason I don't feel the urge to claw out that pale throat of yours."

It doesn't help in the slightest but I nod at him, not willing to uncover my mouth until I've cleaned it out. Maybe more than once. Jumping out of the cage and towards the main door I release my hand only enough to mumble out, "I'll be back soon," and disappear into the corridor.

What a disaster. Apart from getting Sam into a blood soaked bed (which I didn't even do myself) I've accomplished nothing so far. In fact, considering I've left the hose and puddle of freezing water near the chubby-cheeked eighteen year old I might've made things worse.

Racing back to my room I head for the bathroom and rinse out my mouth three times. A spare toothbrush is laying on the sink so I make much needed use of it. When I'm finally satisfied with my breath I take a moment to study myself in the bathroom mirror.

I didn't make much of an effort this morning for my appearance – I was too nervous to do much else than spend all morning on the couch with Charlie – but I know I didn't look this sickly before. I smack my cheeks lightly to get some colour back into them and run my fingers through my unruly loose curls. It's as good as it's going to get without learning how to apply make-up.

Not that I'm quite sure who it is I'm trying to look good for. Definitely not Edward.

Pulling the loose sleeve of my uniform down passed my shoulder I can already see the dark purple splotches beginning to form from the force of the hose. There's nothing I can do for a bruise of this size except hide it. At least it can be covered with clothing.

I exit the bathroom and plop down onto my bed face first; my shoulder gives a twinge of protest at the action but I ignore it. Maybe if it gets bad enough I can score another massage.

The silence of the room is overwhelming and guilt hits me hard as I try to relax for a moment. I squirm around on the bed trying to get comfortable but it's no use. I'm a Fera, too. If they can't relax in this place than neither can I. Within seconds I'm back at the elevator and with a quick swipe of my card I'm heading up to the first level.

It's time for plan B.

"Hey, you!" Alice calls out when the elevator doors open. She's a few feet away with my suitcase in tow. "I'm glad to see you're in one piece… and that he's got you in the stereotypical maid's outfit. Ick. At least yours isn't too tight or short. Don't worry, he gets bored of enforcing the uniform policy after a year or two, then you can wear regular clothes."

"I'm looking forward to that day already."

"I'm just about to pop these down into your room for you." She lugs my suitcase in and I quickly step out to give her room. Normally I'd offer to help her carry the suitcase, even more so because it's mine, but I don't think my shoulder's up to the heavy lifting.

"Come to dinner at six o'clock sharp," she continues. "I'll introduce you to everyone since you missed lunch. It'd be nice to get to know the rest of us early so you know their names if you bump into them in the hall. My first month here I called everyone 'you' or 'pal'. Hey pal, hey you. That sort of thing."

"That'd be great," I tell her. I catch the elevator's door in my hand before it can close on her. "Before you go do you know if there's a telephone I can use, or a notepad and pen?"

"Not sure about the notepad, that might be something you have to use your pay on, but staff have to ask His Lordship to make any calls out. You can ask him about it next time you see him."

"I will. Thanks, Alice."

"No problem, hon."

I give her a half smile and turn on my heel. I'll need to get to that telephone to tell Charlie that I'm okay. There's absolutely no way I'm telling him the truth about where I am; I'd kill him through shock alone, so I begin to rehearse what to say in my head.

_Things are fantastic here, Dad. I love it. I'm making so many new and interesting friends. Sorry but I won't ever call you again because I don't want to ask any favours from the psychopath I'm working for._

I begin to walk in no particular direction. The humming from the wires above keeps me distracted from my thoughts through their slightly irritating drones, but it beats the chilliness and smell below. A few nods and smiles of comradeship are sent my way from the other workers who pass as they're each too busy to talk properly.

My thoughts turn dark as I watch all the workers racing around me, never really stopping. They're punching things into tablets or carrying heavy boxes. They're doing mundane tasks but now that I know what goes on in this place every person in here, I realise, is now my enemy. It's doubtful that Edward would have a side project going when the entire country's young adult Feras are housed here so what else would they be doing if not helping that monster?

"Need help?" a middle-aged, slightly balding man calls out to me from across the foyer. "You look a little lost."

Not wanting to start a screaming match I walk over to him with a grateful nod. "A little. Would you happen to know where I could get some paper? I'd like to jot down a few notes about my work."

"I sure do but it's a bit of a hike from here on the above floor. You probably don't have clearance and I could use a little exercise so you just stay put and I'll run up to grab you some."

I exhale a heavy relieved sigh. "Thank you so much. I'm still learning my way around this place."

He laughs. "I could get you a map as well, if you'd like."

"Really?" I smile. "That'd be great."

His laughter becomes louder until they're more like guffaws. I look away awkwardly as others begin to stare. "There's no map. It's just a house, you'll learn the layout soon enough. I'll be right back with that paper for you."

I stand around, unsure of what to do as the man walks off still chuckling to himself. It's not really _that_ funny — this place is big enough to deserve a map of its own. The man comes back after five minutes looking flushed and hands me a worn, old notebook bound in leather, and a fancy looking pen.

"This do?" he asks while I flip through the blank, yellow pages.

"Perfect. Thanks again."

"My pleasure," he says kindly and pats my shoulder.

I shrug him off with a practiced smile and nearly spring back to the elevators and down to the prisoners.

The hose is still leaking a small amount of water so I quickly shut it down and reel it back into the locker, closing it with a heavy snap.

"Hey guys," I huff breathlessly when I finish. "I think we got off to a bad start but I'm here to try again." I hold up the notepad and pen. "If it's okay I'd like to ask some questions to get a feel for how things work."

Half of the men turn their heads towards to back of the biggest cage — towards Jacob. I hold my breath as I glance between them. After a few terse seconds Jacob's voice, quiet but firm, speaks out from the darkness.

"Ask away."

Phew. "Thanks. What time do you normally eat? What's the schedule for that?"

"Whenever they remember we need food to survive," the redhead says. "Sometimes once a day at random times, or if we're unlucky once a week."

"Once a _week?"_ I cry. It shouldn't surprise me, it is a house of horrors after all. "When was the last time you ate?"

He briefly glances over to the older men as if he's not sure whether or not to answer. When no-one stops him, he states simply, "Yesterday."

I jot down the first, and possibly the most important note: _Feed the men regularly._

"Does anyone have dietary requirements? I'm a vegetarian so I only eat plant-based foods, maybe the herbivores here would like that, or meat for the carnivores?"

"Lady, I'll eat cat food if you have it," Seth says one cage over.

I decide to write down " _both meat and plants_ " as a side note anyway. My stomach literally can't handle or digest meat properly, being a strict herbivore, so if it's possible to get both varieties of food for them I will.

"You didn't really write that down did you?" Seth asks. "I don't actually want cat food."

"No, I didn't write down 'feed them cat food', Seth." I try not to laugh.

" _Woah._ How'd you know my name?"

Sam groans from his cot. "I said it earlier. Idiot pup."

"I hope this doesn't sound rude," I say, looking over the muscular form of Sam and the other beefy, dark skinned men. "But you all seem to have a nice… you seem muscular. Not anorexic like I might imagine a starved person to look like. How is that possible if they feed you so little?"

"Next question," Jacob's voice booms out. He must be sensitive about it.

I quickly nod and stutter out, "Sorry. Um, what about water?"

"What about it?"

"How do you drink? Is that supplied as well? What should I do?"

"When drinking from the toilet becomes too much I open the bars and allow the hose water to run along the ground so we can lap it up like dogs. Any other questions?"

Disgusting. I don't dwell on that fact; it's clear Jacob cares for his "pack" so having to resort to such depravity must be a massive blow to his pride. However, I do quickly write down in large letters: ' _Get them clean water and cups_!' followed by ' _Find a mop and soap to get rid of this smell_.'

On another page I sketch out the layout of the cages, and the room, including their beds, toilet, and lockers. I can't see what's in Jacob's cage as it's unbelievably pitch black, so I simply write 'Black' inside his box and smile internally a little at my wit.

I ask each of them for their name and write it down in their assigned square. A few of the older, meaner looking males, like Paul, Embry, and York refuse to tell me their names. I only learn them when the now enthusiastic red haired eighteen year old — who tells me his name is Evan — blurts out everyone's name.

"Evan, you ugly bastard, I didn't want her to know anything about me," Paul spits in Evan's direction. "Haven't you learnt your lesson about the humans?"

"Nah, I think she's here to help us," Evan says, turning to me with hopeful rounded green eyes. "You can get us out, right Miss Swan? That's why you're writing everything down. You're planning our escape."

"I'm—" I look out to the others who are watching me. Most are waiting for the inevitable _no_. The Quileute men are uncaring and indifferent, but it's the younger ones with guarded hope in their faces that hurt the most. "I don't think I can, Evan. I don't know how. This place is a fortress. Between the large amounts of people running around, the steel doors, the elevator — which is monitored for weight, by the way — there's also a big security gate outside. I think I saw sentry towers when I was being driven in."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"And then, even if we somehow made it out there's a massive forest that surrounds the land which probably holds more traps and goes on for ages. I wouldn't know where to start."

Instead of looking put out Evan seems even more hopeful.

"But you've thought about it."

"Yeah and it seems impossible." I clear my throat while Evan sits back satisfied. "But of course I'll try to help where and when I can. Right now that's getting you all comfortable. Sam's area has the medicine but if anyone thinks they need medical attention right now they should tell me." Silence. "Okay, it also looks like everyone here needs clean sheets and pillow cases. I'll get on that and I'll look around for human soap and a bucket to get everyone's skin cleaned up. There's no way I'm running anyone down with that hose. I'm pretty sure it was built to put out fires." My shoulder throbs simply thinking about it.

No-one says anything. They simply glance at one another.

"Am I missing anything? Or does anyone want anything for leisure?"

"Leisure." A nasty laugh sounds out from one man before Jacob quickly shuts it down with an angry growl.

"We will be fine, little human," he barks. "We want nothing from you, and if I were you I would be more worried about myself."

He's gotten testy since I ran out.

"I don't think that's true at all, Jacob," I counter firmly. "If you were me I think you'd be doing everything you could to help these men still trapped in here while you were living free."

"That would only be because they are _my_ pack, and you," he rumbles, "are _not_ pack."

_But I could be._

I ignore him to address the others. "I may not be able to get anything you ask for, but there's no harm in trying is there? So I'll ask again; is there anything anyone wants?"

There's silence before a small voice, Derek I believe, says, "I wouldn't mind some paper and coloured pencils."

I quickly write that down in his area with a small smile. "An artist? I'd love to see some of your work if I can get you the pencils."

He gives a timid smile in return. None of the men in Jacob's area say a word but the younger males take that as a positive sign and begin to call out for small items. A book, a blanket for the very cold nights, a toothbrush and toothpaste. One rowdy, blonde nineteen year old begs for a calendar of bikini models which elicits groans from the others.

"Okay, okay," I laugh. "The jokes are coming so I know I've got everything. I think it might be getting late; I won't be able to start cleaning up the smells in here just yet but if I'm able to get some food or find blankets I'll be back tonight."

"Please do!" Evan calls as I make my way out. "I haven't had a juicy apple in so long and I'm getting so sick of eating the super gross meat—"

" _Evan!"_ Jacob roars from his cage. A silent, unspoken threat passes between the two and I see Evan swallow harshly, his Adam's apple visibly straining.

"Yeah, Evan," Embry, I think, says bitterly. "If you didn't want to eat meat you should've just starved and let me have your share. The rest of us wouldn't turn our noses up at it like a spoiled princess. Maybe when you've been here for a few more years you can open that pretty boy mouth of yours and talk shit."

I hover around the exit, unsure whether to leave or not. This conversation is taking a turn towards the private and I get the feeling I'm not allowed to listen in. I can see that Evan desperately wants to retort something back but Jacob's careful gaze keeps him in check.

With a little hesitation I hop out of the room, letting the heavy steel door silence the conversations completely behind me. I'll let the men sort their issues out.

Heading back to my room I stash my notepad and pen before making my way up to the ground floor. The light growling of my stomach is a good indication that dinner should be soon and I still need to find the dining area.

When the doors click open I step out lightly to a completely empty foyer.

"Hello?"

No answer. Taking a wild guess I begin heading down one path, passed the grand staircase, until I hear the faint voices from others. The delicious smell of roasted vegetables linger around the door from where the voices are sounding and I knock on it tentatively.

It opens quickly and a young woman's head pops out. She gives me a friendly smile. "Oh, you're the new girl."

"That's me. Bella Swan. I've gotten a little lost about where dinner's being held, is that here?"

"It is, but…" she looks back inside the room and back to me with a touch of pity. "You're a little late to it. Let me grab Mr. Cull— I mean, the Master."

She doesn't need to go very far because the second her back is turned Edward is standing before me.

"Isabella," he drawls. His eyes scan over my body is a slow, appreciative manner. "The uniform suits you nicely, I see. Although clearly meant for someone a little taller and more well endowed."

I cross my arms over my chest quickly in partial anger and embarrassment. Having a large bust isn't a requisite for being a maid and I'm not going to let him make me feel ashamed of my own body. Edward's eyes narrow at my defensive stand.

"What are you doing here?" he says.

_What does it look like, idiot._

"I was hoping to grab something to eat for dinner." I keep my voice meek and quiet, balancing my stance with something more submissive.

"It's six-oh-five. You're late."

By five minutes. "I'm really sorry. I didn't know the time because I don't have a watch, and I had trouble finding the dining hall."

"There is a clock hanging upon your wall in your room. If you cannot read analog then you better learn fast because, as I have already _told_ you, lateness will not be tolerated in my house. You make me repeat myself again and you will be punished. That seems fair, does it not?"

I nod meekly, relieved when I see him nod back.

"You will learn to be on time when you don't have anything to eat. Now get out of my sight."

I don't argue. Turning on my heel to leave I halt only for a moment when I hear Edward.

"Oh, and Isabella?" I tilt my head in his direction. He leers at me, a foul grin on his lips. "Wear the uniform to breakfast."

Disappointed, hungry, and slightly humiliated I leave and begin to walk towards the elevator to get an early night, but pause as a thought strikes me. There's no-one around. Sure, I can only assume there are still people keeping an eye on security and the cameras, but if I act like I know where I'm going they can't be too suspicious.

What mischief could a shy, five-foot-something teenager possibly get up to?

I walk around the ground floor as fast as I can, knowing I have maybe ten minutes at most to find something of value. I try to map everything and every room I pass in my head so I can write it down later: the laundry room, showers, hall, dormitories. The guys will have to live with a thin, bloody sheet for at least a day longer until I find where those are kept.

Finally, _finally,_ I find what I'm searching for. The completely empty, but fully stocked kitchens. I try not to take notice of the cameras moving about on the wall as I shuffle about the kitchen, pretending to be in my element.

_They're probably not paying attention,_ I tell myself. _A maid is allowed in the kitchens. Nothing out of the ordinary here._

As quickly as my human body can manage without looking suspicious, I move around the kitchen grabbing things that might be useful. On a wooden tray I place a few pieces of fruit, a small loaf of bread, some meat cutlets, a very large glass and pitcher.

There. It's a large enough meal that it might tide the men over until I can figure out how to get them more food tomorrow morning, but it's a small enough meal that I can pretend it's all for me if I'm caught.

I cover the entire tray with cloth to hide the contents and quickly make my way back to the elevator with my head held high. For the first time in my life I'm grateful that I'm described as 'not so bright' — it will sure make it easier to feign ignorance about my actions if need be.

It's only when I'm on the freezing, underground level that I release a breath I didn't realise I was holding in a puff of smoke. The tray is shaking in my hands and my heart is racing from excitement, not fear, for once.

Who knew being sneaky was so thrilling?

Heading into my room first, I fill up the large pitcher with cold tap water from my bathroom and quickly move back down the corridor, passed the steel doors that require some maneuvering since I'm holding a rather heavy tray, and back to the Fera men.

"Guess what I have?" I call out in an exhilarated sing-song voice, feeling rather proud of myself and my daring theft.

I place the tray on the ground and remove the cloth with a flourish.

"Apples!" Evan calls out.

I toss him one that he captures easily and almost bites into.

"Wait." I hear Jacob call out. It's frustrating to not be able to see where he is. "I want to see you finish a piece of fruit first, little maid. See if you're trying to poison us."

"Wouldn't you be able to smell the poison?" I retort sharply, my good mood ebbing just a fraction. It's a fair enough thought and one I would likely share if I were in his position.

"Yes. Amuse me anyway."

I pick up another piece of fruit from the middle of the plate, and with exaggerated carefulness bite into it. When my stomach growls lightly at the taste I quickly finish it off.

"Satisfied?"

"Yes."

With that Evan devours his own apple almost in seconds. Starting at his cage, at the very left, I give him a piece of bread and an offering for meat that he staunchly refuses, and some water. Going to each of the men I repeat the process, dividing up the remains in my head to make sure there's enough left for everyone, but it seems I don't need to bother. No-one takes more than their fair share. If anything they take less than I'd expect, and instead try to pass it off to one of the others.

It's only when I reach Jacob and his group that they refuse the food offered.

"We don't need anything from you," one of the men grumbles. Lucas, I think it was. He's one of the only white men in there, the majority of twenty-ones have the same look as Sam and I wouldn't be surprised if half of them were all Quileute.

"That's right," another says. "Our alpha gives us everything we need."

I try to give food to all eight of them but Sam's the only one who weakly accepts the glass of water when offered.

Grumbling, I move to Jacob's cell and hold out the plate. He stares at it for a moment.

"Mr. Black... Jacob, please just take something to eat or drink so the others follow suit. They need to keep their strength up, as do you."

"They can eat from your hand if they wish, I haven't said a word to stop them."

"You know they defer to you," I whisper, although whispering in front of them is a pointless endeavor. I know with their hearing they'll hear every word. "Please, show them it's okay. That they can trust me."

"They can't trust you," he bites out hard. His silhouette seems to expand. " _I_ do not trust you."

"You said you could trust my body's reactions, why don't you trust me now?"

"Women oftentimes have trouble with violence and don't like the sight of blood. It doesn't mean they don't think the injured didn't deserve it."

"That's too many double negatives but I _don't_ think any of you deserve any violence or pain. Does it smell like I'm lying to you? You don't have to completely trust me," I implore. "You just have to let me _help_."

Jacob breathes in a ragged, deep breath and very slowly he extends a hand out to pick up some of the bloodier looking meat on the tray. I hear him chew the meat with exaggerated loudness and suddenly, just like that, the others are hungry and calling out for some food and water.

"Thanks," I mouth to him.

Well, what do you know. Score one for the little human girl.

And when I drag in my mini electric heater from my room to theirs, in an attempt to warm up their cages an hour later, I could swear he inclines his head to me in the barest of nods.


	7. Ready to Rumble

Rolling onto my good shoulder I peek up at the clock. Four in the morning. Despite the permanent darkness of the underground and the very little amount of sleep I got, I'm in surprisingly bright spirits. I feel light. Almost pleased with myself.

After sneaking in a quick shower — thankfully there are no cameras in the women's shower rooms — I manage to wash, dry, iron, and change into my uniform with twenty minutes to spare until breakfast.

I'm the first to arrive in the dining hall, which seems to be more suited to a viking's home than a modern one. A long wooden table stretches out across the room's entire length, with chairs placed down either aisle, and a single, large chair that resembles a throne at the very top. It doesn't take a genius to work out who that's for.

"Isabella."

Speak of the devil. I whip around in the chair I picked at random and put on my best fake smile.

"Good morning," I chirp. If I can get away without using the word _Master_ then I will.

"You are early," Edward drawls as he makes his way to the throne-like chair. He gestures to the seat closest to his. "Come. Sit."

Like a well-trained dog I stand to obey the commands and take a seat at his right side.

"You have not fixed your uniform yet. It sits on you like an unappealing sack."

I glance down at myself. The uniform is fine really, unless I want to show off my shape. "No, Master." Okay, maybe a few small instances of the word won't hurt. "I haven't had the time to find someone to help."

He grunts his disapproval. "Leave it on your bed after breakfast. I'll have someone come fix it for you."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." There goes dishonest Isabella — spouting her lies again.

Just as he's about to say something, the large doors creaks open at the end of the hall to interrupt him. Six o'clock exactly.

I resist the urge to sigh in relief when I see a large group of people saunter in to fill the vacant room. Most give a slight bow to Edward before taking a seat as far away from him as possible. They have the right idea.

Considering none of the others even come close to Edward's chair at the end of the table I give him my best attempt at a sitting bow and move to stand as well. Clearly the help doesn't associate with faux royalty.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, with one perfectly sculptured eyebrow raised.

I vaguely gesture towards the others. "I didn't think the servants were allowed to sit so close to you."

He smiles that nasty, predatory smile of his; no lips, and full of teeth. "No, not normally. I will, however, make an exception for you. Please, sit."

Somewhat clumsily, I retake my seat at his side and cast a helpless look at the workers. I spot Alice at the far end who's bringing forward dishes of food. She shrugs her shoulders helplessly when our eyes meet.

"How did you find your accommodations last night?"

"Wonderful," I say, trying to keep eye contact. It's much harder than it seems. His eyes are so penetrating and intense that for a wild second I wonder if he's a mind-reader. "You're very generous for what you've provided me."

"Yes, I am." He motions for Alice to serve me food first and she does so without hesitation. "You must be famished considering you decided to skip dinner last night."

_Forced to skip it, you mean._

"A little." I nod a thank you to Alice when she finishes but wait until she's served Edward before I do anything.

"Then please," he says. "Do eat."

"Haggis, from the East," Alice says gently, noting the confusion on my face as I look down at the food.

I delicately lift my fork to pick up a lump of whatever this Haggis is — lentils, maybe? — but don't bring it to my mouth. Edward's watching me like a hawk, curious as to what I'll do.

It wouldn't be poisoned, would it?

"Thank you, Alice. What is haggis though?"

She loads up Edward's plate as she states, "It's a pudding made of sheep's heart and lungs. A delicacy, I believe, in it's country of origin."

Manners be damned, I drop the fork in revulsion before my brain can stop me.

Alice looks mortified and tries to subtly shake her head and me, her eyes darting frantically back and forth between me and the disgusting lump of heart and lung pudding.

'Just eat it,' she mouths slowly.

I can't.

"You are not fond of sheep?" Edward asks coolly. With calculated precision he picks at his own food and takes a large bite, never taking his eyes off me.

"Oh, no, I love sheep. I just don't want to eat them," I whisper, unsure about how to proceed. If I eat and get sick — which is the most likely result — they might want to have me see a doctor.

There are a few pieces of fruit and a bread roll that accompanied the haggis, so I begin to pick at those instead. "I'm so sorry for the trouble, Alice."

"It's no trouble," she says, clearing the balloon-shaped _thing_ off my plate.

After a minute or so of slowly eating the fruit and bread, the noise in the hall begins to pick up as everyone else begins to get their own food. The entertainment of watching the maid in her obnoxious uniform fumble her way through this new world is over.

"Is there a particular reason you do not eat sheep?" Edward inquires after a brief moment of silence. "I myself find the mark of a truly evolved species is in its ability to use the others for our survival, whether that's their fur, tusks, or meat. To eat them in such a refined and cultured manner really does set us apart from beasts."

"Of course."

"We have already begun conservation efforts to stop the extinction of sharks, tigers, bears, and lions. The most dangerous creatures on our Earth and we find it difficult to keep them alive. Is that not a sign of power?"

"It is."

He watches me unblinking. "Then why would you not eat what is on your plate?"

If I say it's purely because of physical reasons he'll might want to check me out. If I say it's ethical he might rightly assume I'm a Fera sympathiser.

"I find animals to be… innocent," I say, stumbling over the right word to use. "Vulnerable and perhaps sentient. I grew up with all sorts, so I've formed a close bond with them."

"I see. Is that how you feel about the ferals I've assigned to your care?"

"Master?" I ask in confusion.

"Do you find those animals to be innocent, vulnerable, or _sentient_? You seemed shocked when I presented them to you. Do you feel sympathy for those creatures as well?"

"No!" I cry quietly. "No, absolutely not. If I feel any sympathy it's simply because I don't see them as anything other than wild animals — no different to a pig, or goat that's been locked away."

"Then you would work with them the way one would work with farm animals?"

"Yes," I sigh in relief. If he thinks that then accidentally slipping up when I comfort the "wild beasts" might not be heavily punishable. "Just like farm animals."

"I envy your naivety, Isabella. How simple your mind must be if you think you can treat those creatures in the same manner a farmer treats the lowly cattle."

Edward stands and in less than a second the hall has quietened. Everyone drops their cutlery and seems to wait with baited breath for his command.

"Bastion and Margo!" he calls out before sitting back down.

Instantly, two burly blondes with buzz cuts, a man and a woman, stand to rush over and join us at the far end of the table. Although there's a little difference in their height and muscle mass, they look so similar that it's clear they must be twins.

They raise their arms to their chest in a military greeting and call, "Sir!". As Edward doesn't reprimand them I can only assume they're allowed to drop the 'master' title.

"Isabella, these are the feral trainers, Bastion and Margo Smithson. Trainers, this is Isabella Swan, the new maid assigned to clean and feed the ferals."

The two give a curt nod in my direction, never breaking out of their formal roles.

Unsure whether or not to nod back I settle for a quiet, "Hello".

"Bastion," Edward starts. "Tell Isabella about what it is you and Margo do here."

The man turns to me, his face a mask of complete neutrality with his mouth set in a grim line.

"Ma'am. We oversee the combat training for the _Homo fera_ males aged twenty to twenty-one three times a week, ma'am. Sergeant Smithson trains the potential recruits in weaponry and armed combat, while I train the recruits for hand-to-hand combat. Once a month we also train them in their feral form."

"Would you say these recruits would make fine soldiers if they lived long enough to become one, Sergeant?" Edward asks.

"Yes sir."

"Would you say they make better soldiers than a farm animal?"

"Yes sir."

Edward leans back in his throne-like chair, one hand massaging a spot under his chin as if in deep contemplation. He tilts his head to me and with a flick of his wrist says, "You will accompany Bastion and Margo to their training session this afternoon. I had thought you might have a soft heart when it came to the ferals, thinking they are as human as you or I, but I see now I must disillusion you of entirely other notions. We will see how vulnerable these farm animals seem after today."

I swallow hard and nod.

The two beefed up soldiers remain in a stiff position, arms straight at their side for the remainder of breakfast. I try not to continue glancing at them as I poke my food miserably around my plate but their still bodies are so unnerving it's hard to keep my eyes off them.

At one point I think the woman shoots me a quick wink but it's gone before I have the chance to blink.

The minutes drag on and from the lack of plates and cutlery noises I'm guessing everyone's finished eating. However, no-one makes a move to stand.

Edward slowly continues to take small bites of his remaining meal, dragging out the feast for as long as possible it seems. After every bite he delicately wipes his mouth, glances at the workers — who in turn are trying their hardest not to stare — and takes another bite. When he finally finishes, fifteen minutes after everyone else, he stands and waves his hand out dismissively.

"Go," he says without a care.

Everyone instantly scrambles to their feet at the same time and rushes as fast as they can without actually running towards the exit. The beefy twins right behind them, marching out in stride. The large dining hall is empty within seconds, leaving a mess of dirty plates and spilled drinks in their wake.

_Cue stage left._

I nod briefly to Edward and stand a little more gracefully than the others.

"Where are you going?" he asks and wipes his mouth again.

"I would like to get started on my work as soon as possible, Master. I don't want to burden you with the cost of my living here without contributing."

"I like you, Isabella," he says suddenly as he stands.

My heart picks up fast at his words. It picks up even faster when he pushes his chair back and moves around to stand far too close at my side.

"You have a work ethic I don't see often with new recruits. You wish to please me, don't you." His words are definitely not a question but I nod submissively anyway.

"Yes, and I see you want to succeed at your job. There's not much that happens under my roof that I do not know about," he says as he wipes something from the corner of my mouth.

From the quick glance I take down at his thumb I can see there's no smudge or food on it.

_Creep._

"You were enquiring about my whereabouts yesterday," he says softly. "Why?"

I swallow harshly with the very little saliva left in my dry mouth. "I was wondering if I could call my dad and tell him I'm okay. I haven't been away from home before and I know he'll be worrying non-stop until he hears from me."

Edward gives a brief smile that for once looks kind and not predatory, smoothing out the bitter lines in his face and returning warmth into his handsome face. "A daddy's girl? Very well, a single call will be acceptable this once, just to let him know you are well taken care of. You may use my private landline. Follow me."

With that he practically glides out of the room, with me right on his heels. As we exit, we pass the two soldiers who are standing guard outside the hall. They raise their arms in a military gesture again when Edward passes, who quietly chuckles at their actions.

Without a word Edward begins a path back up to his study on the second floor. He occasionally glances back to make sure I'm following and _I'm_ sure to keep my eyes firmly on the ground at my feet. When we make it to his workroom I curb the impulse to avoid him with a wide sidestep as I enter.

My signed confidentiality agreement is still laying on the study desk, its obscenely large bulk making it the centerpiece in the otherwise cozy room. Ignoring it, I clasp my hands together in front of me and bow my head, waiting for his instructions.

Edward takes a seat at his desk and gestures to the very old looking telephone sitting on its corner.

"You may use this to call out. It will be monitored both by me and by a recording device through transit. Be quick, its expenses are deducted from your pay."

I step quickly over to the old, glossy black phone and pick up its handset with one hand. It's heavier than I expected, and much, _much_ older. I glance down at the little box and notice the numbers are arranged in a circular pattern with holes on top.

Unwilling to embarrass myself by telling Edward I don't know how to use his phone I press my finger into the hole for the number nine: the first digit of Charlie's number. There's nothing to press though as it's not a button. Gently I take my finger out and peek up at Edward who's watching me with amusement.

He reaches forward and grabs my index finger, placing it back into the hole and moving it in and out the smallest amount but enough to feel dirty and obscene.

"You move it around," he breathes as he drags my finger around the phone dials until it clicks. "Then release."

The second he releases my finger I hurry to punch in the other numbers, not giving a moment of hesitation for Edward to touch me again. Thankfully it seems I know what I'm doing because after I release the last digit I can hear the tone of a call going out.

_It won't be seven yet,_ I think nervously as the seconds tick by. _Charlie should be home._

I fiddle with the phone's cord while I wait.

_Pick up. Pick up._

"Hello?" a groggy voice speaks into my ear.

"Dad!" I cry. _Oh,_ it's so good to hear his voice. It hasn't been a day and I already miss it like crazy. "Dad, it's me."

"Bella?" His voice is much more alert and I can hear the struggle he makes to get up and out of bed. "That you? Oh baby, I was up nearly all night waiting to hear from you. Worried sick I was."

"Dad—" I rush to get out before he can begin talking. "Before you start, do _not_ ask me anything about whether there's cute boys here I have a crush on. They monitor my calls and I don't want rumours to spread." I try to laugh it off but from the intake of Charlie's breath the impact and meaning of my words has hit.

"Sure. Are you… okay? Do I need to come get you?"

I can feel Edward's gaze on me and I put on my best, fake smile just for him. "No, Dad. Actually I'm great. It's amazing here, so much more than what I was expecting. I'm living in a castle. Can you _believe_ it?"

"A castle?" Charlie asks with a hint of confusion.

I know he's trying to read between the lines of my words in case I'm trying to send him a secret S-O-S message but I won't do that. I'll happily let Charlie live the rest of his life thinking I'm safe, well taken care of, and happy.

"Yeah! Well, it's big enough to be one. I've already met some really nice people."

"But are you happy? Why would they… need to monitor your calls?"

I blink back tears as the familiar lie falls out of my mouth. "I'm very happy, Dad. I think they monitor calls for security reasons because, like I said, this place is so big and amazing. The owner must have a lot of jealous people wanting to ruin him and his business."

Charlie laughs in relief and I squeeze my eyes tight at the sound. "I'm so happy to hear that, Bella. God, you have no idea. No idea."

I try to laugh in reply but it comes out much too forced. "I do have some bad news, though."

"What?" he says, sobering up instantly. I glance over at Edward who cocks his eyebrow at me.

"I don't think I can call you as often as I promised. I have to ask permission to use the phones and I don't think they're to be used for leisure."

There's silence for a few tense seconds before Charlie lets out a quiet, disappointed, "Oh."

"But I'll still see you for the holidays," I quickly add, desperate to remove that disappointment from his tone. "Those are always happening."

"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, you're right, kiddo. I can't wait to see you."

"It might be a while, Dad," I laugh lightly. "We saw each other yesterday."

I pause. "Are you eating regularly? Did you make yourself dinner last night? I'm worried you might stop eating now that I'm not there to feed you."

"Aren't we the pair," Charlie chuckles down the line. "Worrying about the other. I'll be fine, Bella. I'm an adult man, I can't rely on my own daughter to feed me. I want to talk about you. If you're living in a castle your boss must be famous. Who is he; was Edward Cullen an alias? Can I even ask?"

"I was exaggerating just a little bit. I don't think it's really a castle, it's more like a very big mansion, and no I don't think so. Sorry to crush your dreams."

"Well, it would make a good movie," he says and I can hear the smile in his voice. He must be so relieved; I wish I could say the same. "How long are you able to talk? I don't have to be in to the station for a while."

I want to say _hours_ but I already feel I've passed Edward's patience levels. "I think I may have to go now, actually. It takes a lot of work to clean this place."

"Work? I thought there's a week long adjustment period to let you settle in."

"Dad," I force a laugh. "You're so old, that idea was scrapped ages ago. I don't mind though, I enjoy the work. It keeps my mind sharp and my hands busy."

"I'm proud of you."

My bottom lip starts to tremble and I reach up to my necklace and grab it tight. It's definitely time to close that chapter of my life, at least for now. "I have to go, Dad. I'll try to contact you if I can but please don't lose any sleep if I don't."

"Okay," he says softly. "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you, too. Bye."

I place the handset back down to its original position and run a finger under my eye in case of any stray tears.

"Wasn't that sweet," Edward all but coos from his desk. "A touching moment between father and daughter."

There's something in his voice that I can't place but I don't take any chances with his temper. I return to my submissive pose, with arms entwined at the front of my short apron and head bowed.

"Thank you for letting me use your phone."

"No, no." Edward stands and moves in front of me to unclasp my hands. "Don't do that. Talk to me as if I was your father."

_What?_

My mouth bobs open and closed in surprise. Surely this grown man doesn't expect me to begin calling him 'Daddy'. But his face is stony in seriousness and as my silence drags on any trace of mirth is replaced by an ugly darkness.

His hands come up to rest lightly against my cheeks, and with a feather touch he strokes one of them with the back of his hand. "Such beauty. How is it you are so willing to please and yet so disobedient at the same time?"

Like lightning his other hand shoots out and his bare knuckles connect brutally with the side of my face in a backhanded slap. Pain instantly radiates and my body falls to the ground in the direction of his heavy swing. My own hand flies up to cup my burning cheek in disbelief.

His pointy-toed leather shoes come into my sight from my huddled position on the ground and he kneels down to look me over carefully. I try to let my head fall forward, allowing my long hair to shield me from his gaze.

My cheek is throbbing and the shock of it thankfully keeps my eyes dry.

"That was for the food," he whispers. There's not a hint of remorse in his voice for his actions, but there _is_ a deep, quiet anger. "I'm not a cartoon villain, Bella. I don't do bad things for no reason and what did I say? I said I liked order. That you were to respect my decisions. If I tell you you cannot eat, then you do _not_ eat. Do. You. Understand?"

I don't reply, which only seems to anger him further. A small whimper involuntarily leaves my throat.

"I do enjoy breaking my toys, Isabella. So please, continue with your petty acts of resistance instead of standing up like a grown woman."

When I continue to remain silent he leans forward, and through the strands of my hair I see his arm reach out as if to grab my head again. I quickly flinch away from the invading limb and he pulls back just as fast.

"Get out," he whispers, staring down at me. I slowly get to my knees to stand. "Get out! Get OUT!"

I'm on my feet and racing out the door as fast as humanly possible, my hair whipping up in a frenzy behind me.

_He's insane,_ I can't help but think as I almost stumble down the stairs in my haste. _Completely insane._

There are no casual nods or glances as I sprint passed everyone on my way to the elevator.

"Hey, new girl, are you okay?" someone calls out.

"Fine," I snap, harder than I intended as I slam my palm repeatedly on the elevator call button. "Come on. _Come on."_

I just want to be with the others like me right now. The animals I understand, whose actions make sense, instead of these animals who strike with their fists.

The bitter chill of the underground level helps ease the stinging in my cheek and I release my relief in a smoky, shaking breath. It's gotten colder since I left the warmth of my bed this morning.

When my racing heart begins to beat at a reasonable pace again I head to my rooms and strip off my uniform to be collected and altered as per _master's_ request. I change into some loose pants and a basic tee that I brought with me from home. It still has the smell of my old room lingering on its fabric and I inhale it just for a second. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I'm there, sitting on my bed, a cold chill coming from an open window. The tightness around my cheek and eye socket shatters that illusion though and with a tentative touch I can tell it's already begun swelling.

"It's your own fault, stupid girl," I mumble to myself. "Cameras everywhere and you just _had_ to waltz around like you owned the place."

And now there'll be no fresh food for the men.

I head to the storage rooms that are supposed to hold their food, and sure enough a large, black plastic bag, is lying crumpled up underneath a metal looking chute in the ceiling.

_Breakfast,_ the writing on a white sticker reads along with yesterday's date. Physically the bag is very light and even without any upper body strength I easily carry it with one hand towards the Fera males.

"Good morning," I say softly as I enter their steel prison.

Nothing has changed since the last time I was here. The light is still flickering like a bad horror movie and they're all either sitting or curled up in the same spot as when I left them. That is except for possibly Jacob who I can't see in the shadows, as hard as I try, and Paul, who's doing some very impressive one-armed push ups.

"Don't you want to conserve your energy, Paul?" I ask, hoping I remembered the name right. There's so many men in here it's hard to keep track, but before I went to sleep I spent a solid twenty minutes memorising the layouts and the names of the men and their positions around the room.

I simply will not call them by their cage numbers.

"It's Monday, ain't it?" he asks, barely panting.

"Yeah."

"Then we have training today. I feel in the mood for a good fight and don't want to blow it on cold muscles."

I get caught up in his movements and watch the sweat beads dripping off his arms onto the floor. It's a wonder they even have muscles with the lack of room to move and little food they must get. Maybe mental strength factors into it because-

"What's in the bag?" Jacob's sharp voice breaks my trance and I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

"The bag. Right." I bring the plastic bag into the middle of the room. "It's labelled breakfast so I think it's your meals."

Groans echo out from the majority as well as some fake gagging noises.

"I change my mind," Evan says. "I'll eat the gross meat, Jacob."

"You'll eat whatever you have to to survive," Jacob says firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Bring me the bag, Bella."

My name on his lips sets off a spark of butterflies in my stomach.

_He's using my name, hopefully I've been promoted from the little human girl_.

My feet automatically take me in his direction and I press the bag forward through his cage bars and into his waiting hands. He takes it and a second later I hear it land and roll somewhere in the back of his area.

"What the fuck," he says, as his now free hands come up to my cheek. I flinch away at the small contact but he takes hold of my arm to keep me in place. "Who did this?"

I shrug a little and turn my head away to hide what must be my already bruised face.

"Your mast— your _boss_ , do this?" he asks softly. He uses his left hand tilt my face towards his.

I try to shrug again but it's a lot weaker. "It doesn't matter. I'm just sorry for screwing things up so quickly. He found out I took food yesterday but don't worry, he thinks it was just for me. It just means I can't get you any more apples or fresh meat from the kitchens. I'm really sorry."

"God, we don't give a damn about fresh food, little girl," he snarls and whips me around to present me to the others. With a careful hand he turns my cheek and pushes my hair off my face. "Look. _This_ is what humans are. _This_ is what they do. Even to the weakest, gentler runt of their pack they will attack when the mood strikes them. Anyone who still feels they can reason with the humans should take a good look because they are not like us."

"Hey, not all humans are bad!" I exclaim and push away from him. I'm not going to get started on the 'weak runt' comment. "Technically I stole from my employer, so I'm not too surprised this happened."

"You claim not all humans are bad but you believe physical punishment is an appropriate consequence for eating?"

"For stealing."

"You would attack another for stealing from you?"

"No, I wouldn't, but I'm not a violent person. Doesn't mean I don't know others are."

He scoffs and grips his bars. "All humans are violent."

"My father's not." I cross my arms defiantly. "My mother's not."

"I'm sure they would become violent if someone threatened you."

"So would anyone!" I cry. "That's not fair. You would be the exact same if someone hurt one of your pack. A momma bear protecting her cub wouldn't hesitate to lash out, either. We're not so different from each other."

He's silent for a long moment but he doesn't move back into the shelter of the darkness. "We're different enough, in ways you will never understand, and you can be damned sure my kind doesn't prey on the weak the way yours does."

My bottom lip wobbles and his eyes instantly snap to it. An expression I can't decipher passes over his face for the briefest of moments before it's gone.

"I should get to work," I say softly. "It mustn't be very nice to sleep with this smell. I might be a weak runt but I know how to clean."

"Don't worry too much about it," York says before Jacob can respond. The big black man with a shiny bald head chuckles. "I sleep next to Paul and the old blood helps masks his stench."

Paul grumbles good naturedly and I force a smile at York, thankful for his attempts to lighten up the mood, but there's not much point. The mood in here shouldn't be lightened up — the reality is far too grim to gloss over with a smile.

"I'll clean your area last then, York."

I feel compelled to speak to Jacob and I tilt my head towards him so I don't have to meet his dark eyes. "I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to clean yours without any light. If you could guide me while I'm in there I'd appreciate it."

"You're not coming in here."

"Oh."

Well, I'm definitely not going to force myself into their space. Breach their boundaries _and_ their trust? It's a sure-fire way to turn them against me within moments.

"Okay, I can respect that. Let me know if you change your mind because the others might not like the lingering smells when you're the only one left."

"The _others_ will put up with the smell."

With that I go to my trusty supply of cleaning tools I stashed in the corner. There's no mop and bucket around so I take the metal basin from the locker that houses the fireman's hose and sit in on the ground. I lug the awful hose back up onto my shoulder, ignoring the painful spasms.

"Does anyone know how to turn this on without hurting themselves?"

They glance at each other until Sam speaks up. "I'll do it."

"No," I tell him gently. "You're too—" I curb my tongue before I can say weak. "—injured. You just work on getting better."

"I'm fine."

"Give it to me," Embry says.

I drag it over to their cage and despite the rigidness of the hose itself I manage to get it to Embry. He reaches a hand out and takes it from my shoulder. Flipping it between his hands a couple times to get a feel for the weight he quickly aims it at my face.

"Bam!" he yells with a laugh.

I scream and throw my hands up in surprise, instinctively crouching down out of the way of the imaginary water jet.

" _Embry!"_ Jacob snarls out in fury. "Stop fucking around and just _do_ it."

Smile gone, Embry aims the hose out and away from the others. "Like this."

The hose roars to life and shoots out like a torrent over the bucket to hit the water behind it. The bucket-basin quickly fills from the splash off bouncing back from the force of the stream. When it's enough I mummer a thank you and take the hose back from him.

"You know that hose probably has enough power to strip some of the blood right from the walls, don't you?"

"Maybe it does," I say as I shove the thing back into its locker and snap it shut. "But I don't want to get hurt again. I'm fine to scrub with my hands."

"One of us could do it easily if you wanted."

"I'm sure you could," I smile, "but I'm not going to make you do my work for me while I lounge around doing nothing."

He falls silent and I start my cleaning routine: dip the washcloth, pour smelly liquid onto a blood stain, scrub until it hurts, and repeat. I start on Evan's side of the room and unsurprisingly don't get very far until my arms begin to burn and tire.

At some point Jacob must've passed the plastic bag of food around because I can hear the grumbles and gags of men forced to swallow whatever's inside.

I scrub for what feels like hours on my hands and knees. My back aches and sweat beads along my forehead. My respect for labour workers has increased tenfold from this short session alone. Everytime I feel my hands chaff or muscles spasm, I simply think about the males watching me — I feel it so intently — and I scrub even harder.

"You should take a break," Evan says after I finish the inside of his cage. "If you push yourself too hard too fast you'll permanently injure yourself. That's what my mum used to tell me anyway."

"She shouldn't have," York laughs. "Otherwise you might not have such squeezable cheeks."

"Squeezable che— I'm not _fat_."

"I didn't say you were."

"You said I—"

"Both of you stop," Jacob commands forcefully. "It feels like I am babysitting _pups_ with the way you two are acting. And Bella, Evan is right. Take a breather or I'll probably end up fixing your shoulder again."

The thought is tempting. "I will when I finish this one off. I promise."

I round the front of the cage and begin the process all over. Rinse, pour, scrub. The blood begins to fade under my hard work and the metal starts to take on a bright shine. There are other dried liquids and clumps of matter attached to some parts of the cage, but I whisk them away with barely a grimace, not wanting to dwell on any of the possibilities of what they might be.

I'm almost finished with my first section, with just a few bars left to clean when the main door opens. A wolf whistle sounds out behind me.

"Mm-mm girl. Rub that pole a little faster, would ya?"

The deep laughter from the armed guards entering the room has me flushing in embarrassment, and I drop my cloth. I try to get to my feet but I've been scrubbing in the same position for so long my knees buckle slightly under the movement.

"On your knees for too long, honey?" one of them laughs and the others cackle along with him. "She can't hardly stand."

The Feras are quiet as the guards approach. We'll all too aware that any of them can press the little button on their doors and have them electrocuted on a moment's notice.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as a guard passes me by.

He holds out a hand that's clenched around half a dozen dog-collars. They even have name tags and spikes on them as though they really were meant for pets.

"Training time." He throws a few of the collars into the older male's area. "C'mon, be good boys. I'll give ya a Scooby snack."

I clench my fists in anger as I watch each of them fix the collars around their own necks. Even Jacob's stepped as close to the light as possible to show he too has obeyed their rules. Seeing the alpha collared is more than I can stomach.

The guards release the cage doors and usher the men out.

"Get into a single line. Hurry up, hurry up," he says impatiently. He turns to point at me. "You girl. You're to come with us, too. Cullen's orders."

I already knew this was happening so it's no surprise to me but it does make Jacob's eyebrows raise in question. I shrug in reply.

The guards prod the men out and back towards the elevator, and none of the collared men make a sound. Most of them are taller than the guards — Jacob especially so — and some are more bulky, and yet they let themselves be handled like beasts. Collared and rounded up.

_Have they ever tried to knock out the guards and make a break for it?_ I wonder as we reach the lift. I can only assume not considering they're still alive. Those collars are probably wired with the same technology as their rooms, one wrong move and they're zapped. Incapacitated and vulnerable.

When we reach the elevator the guards split the men up into two groups. One ferocious looking guard yanks Sam into line and when he stumbles the guard slams the butt of his gun into Sam's head.

"Hey!" I yell out and press forward to put myself between Sam and the guard.

"What do you think you're doing?" the guard spits at me, raising his gun again as if to strike me.

"Me? What do you think _you're_ doing?" I retort. I don't know where this sudden courage has come from but I plan on taking every advantage before it disappears. "He's already injured and the _Master_ wants me here to see what they're capable of. I can't do that if you knock him unconscious."

"Oh, yeah? Just what are ya going to do about it? Run off tattlin' to yer master?"

"Yes, I will," I hiss low. "And I will let him know exactly who it was that did it." If it helps my men I'll kiss Edward's feet and beg for his help. Pride is wasted here.

The guard goes pale with fear and tries to shake it off with a snarl. "Whatever, bitch."

He directs Sam's group into the elevator first, with Jacob and a few others staying behind, and although I don't want to be around him I step into the cramped space with them make sure he doesn't "accidentally" break Sam's skull.

I see Jacob's head tilt down in a nod before the elevator doors shut on his face.

We begin to descend.

_Another level down?_ I prepare myself for a cold rivaling the Arctic but when the doors slide open it's surprisingly warm. Hot, even. Heat is radiating from the lights above that appear to mimic the Sun's warmth.

Since I don't know this level's layout at all I stick close by Sam's side.

"You okay?" I whisper to him.

He nods faintly and motions for me to be quiet, using his eyes to gesture to the mean guard.

We walk in silence, but not for very long. Two minutes later the guard swipes his card through another door and hustles us through. I instantly know we've reached our destination the moment we step into the room because racks and racks of weapons line the walls, numerous obstacle equipment is strategically placed here and there, and what looks like a professional boxing ring is centred in the very middle.

All in all it's very much the stereotypical training room that I'd expect to see for future soldiers in training.

The blonde soldier twins, Bastion and Margo, are already in workout gear, practicing their hits on each other in the middle of the room.

_They're good. They're_ really _good,_ I note, watching as they take jabs at each other. As if in a dance they flow around the other, striking out and spinning back. Bastion fakes a left and fluidly kicks up high, stopping an inch away from the woman's neck.

"And you're dead. Stick to your guns, Margo," he laughs and pushes her back.

"Ferals are here!" the guard next to me yells. Bastion and Margo turn in unison.

"Hey!" Margo calls out when she spots us. She leaps up _over_ the meter high rope barrier of the ring and jogs up to me. I barely contain a yelp as she pulls me into a stiff, military embrace that I suppose is meant to be a hug. "Hey new girl, you ready to watch some guys get a whoopin'?"

"Uh…" I reply as she lets me go. "I guess so."

"Don't sound too enthusiastic." She turns to the collared men. "C'mon lads, you know the drill. Pair up. Number seven, you can start your one-on-one with Bast. God knows you need it."

_Seven. That's his cage number._

Nicholas, one of the quiet Feras who I haven't spoken with yet, breaks away from the group and slowly approaches the center ring.

Like a well-oiled machine the other men separate into pairs without a fight and scatter around the training room to begin delivering soft kicks and punches, not at all concerned about what's going on in the middle of the room.

"How do you like the hellhole so far?" Margo asks as we watch Nicholas try to land a hit on Bastion. He's failing miserably and receives several hard punches for his efforts that make me wince. Bastion mutters something about his stance, giving him a moment to correct it.

"Hellhole? This place? I like it," I lie.

"Sure you do," she says with a smile. "As long as you like that loser Cullen's arse you'll be fine."

I gasp and whisper low, "Don't say that. He probably has microphones in here."

"I don't think so, we play pretty rough ball in here sometimes. Even if he does so what? He knows he's a loser. That's why he tries so hard to get everyone to call him 'the Master'". She makes little bunny ears. "It's pathetic. We play by his rules so we don't end up with our throats slit. Bet he gave you that nice shiner on your eye, too."

Her intense scrutiny has me nodding for a moment. "But you call him sir."

"Old habit from my military days. Cullen likes his women weak so he's not going to do shit to make me call him master, but I like my head where it is so I still take orders."

"How'd you go from being in the military to working here?"

"Cullen put a request in for personnel who've worked closely with the Feras. My brother and I were squad leaders for four of them, so we were recommended." She pauses before gesturing angrily at Nicholas. "Your opponent isn't a small child, you idiot! Get up!"

I turn from her and watch as Nicholas attempts to crouch and kick his leg out, as if to throw Bastion off balance. Bastion merely sidesteps the pitiful kick and brings his knee directly into his opponent's face and with a heavy crunch Nicolas goes down. Blood splatters on the ring floor from his bleeding nose and mouth.

"Oh, God." I cover my mouth.

"Bah!" Margo spits. "He's too soft. Two years we've been working them and he's still as useless as ever. Spineless worm."

"He's not a worm," I reprimand, having to stop myself from rushing to his side and taking him out of there.

"No, it's true. He's a worm. He actually turns into some type of worm — that's his form. It's disgusting. We stopped bothering with him during the monthly alt-form training sessions, because I mean really, what are we supposed to do with a tiny worm? Train it to attack? Now where is..." she looks around for a moment. "Where is number nine?"

As if called by her question Jacob saunters into the room with the others who were separated at the elevator, followed by angry looking guards.

"There you are. You're late," Margo exclaims with what I would describe as a flirty grin. Jacob curls his lip in distaste at her — or perhaps me — and moves towards the ring where Nicholas is trying to get up off his knees.

"Big bastard was causing us some trouble, but they're here now," a guard pipes up behind Jacob's massive frame.

"I bet his was. Don't worry, we'll take good care of him from here."

Jacob jumps into the sparring ring and gently lifts Nicolas up and out, propping him up safely against the outer ring. He runs the back of his hand over Nicholas' bleeding mouth.

I'm about to run over to help when Margo stops me with an arm.

"Don't bother. He's fine," she whispers before yelling out, "It's not your turn Number Nine — the Worm needs more practice at hand-to-hand."

"He's done here."

Margo smirks and inclines her head mockingly. "All right then. Let's see what you have."

"Ever see a real fight?" she whispers to me.

"No." I don't particularly want to either.

Jacob gets into position opposite Bastion. He rolls his shoulders forward and back, and I can hear the cracks that echo out. He cracks his knuckles and bares his teeth at Bastion as he stretches his jaw. The blonde soldier looks like a boy in comparison to the mammoth in front of him.

_Maybe Jacob actually_ is _a mammoth._

"Then you're in for a treat," Margo whispers back. "My brother likes to show off to the ladies."

Bastion starts to circle Jacob's still form, hopping in and quickly back out of what might be an area of attack. Jacob does nothing but watch his opponent with a careful eye, who's dancing around him. Bastion fakes a jab and Jacob doesn't even blink.

He's making Bastion look like an amateur without even trying.

"Come on, Nine," the blond taunts. "I'll let you have the first one for free."

Bastion fakes another left, then a right, and when it gets him nowhere he dodges behind Jacob to try a cowardly attack from the back. Within seconds Bastion is on the ground, Jacob poised over him with the man's wrist bent at a ninety-degree angle in one hand and his neck in the other.

"Dead," Jacob snarls and releases the wrist to get back into his starting position.

Bastion rolls over and up to his feet. His face is red and he spares a quick glance my way, scowling heavily when he sees me watching. He pretends to wipe some dirt of his top before whirling around with a sucker punch aimed at Jacob. Jacob sidesteps the punch and kicks his foot out, connecting briefly with Bastion's knee causing him to topple to the ground with a cry of both anger and frustration.

"Dead." Jacob goes back to neutral. He cracks his neck once more.

Bastion gets to one knee, growls out a harsh expletive, and attacks again in a flurry of leaping high kicks, side kicks, and upper punches, each one effortlessly avoided. At one point Jacob almost smiles in my direction as he's dodging a jab.

I don't realise my mouth is wide open in awe until Margo presses a finger under my jaw and pushes it back up to my mouth.

"Good, isn't he."

"Dead," Jacob calls out again.

Bastion's getting more furious and sloppy with his attacks; his embarrassment in failing to land a single hit spurring on his fury while Jacob's beginning to become more feral in his amusement. He's even stopped trying to sidestep the attacks that come to him, instead just countering them directly as they appear.

Once, twice, three times Bastion's on his back with either Jacob's foot or hand at his throat. "Dead."

Jacob hasn't broken a sweat but the soldier is panting heavily, flushed, and wet with his own perspiration.

"He's incredible," I breathe in awe.

"He really is. Look at that movement, those muscles," she says as she pretends to fan herself. "This is what the animal-men should be training for their whole lives, but of course everyone prioritises research or gambling over their military. It's not like we do anything important except keep them all safe and free."

I mumble out a noise of agreement, too distracted by the fight to pay much attention.

"We might even get a Hunter death this year. He's almost the perfect fighter and he's barely had any training. Who knows what he'd be like if we could've worked on him longer than a few months."

I don't take my eyes of Jacob but I tilt my head in Margo's direction. "A few months? Don't you train them for longer than that so they can be decent soldiers if they survive the Hunt?"

"Of course. It's lab testing for eighteen and nineteens, and then once that's over it's straight into combat training for the next two years until their Hunt. If they survive that we know they're good enough to be part of our militia. If they don't, well the public gets a good show."

"Then why have you only been training Jacob… uh, number nine for a few months? How old was he when he was caught?"

She looks down at me from her taller-than-average height and seems positively gleeful. "You don't _know_?"

"Know what?"

"He's only been here for three months. Number nine turned _himself_ in."

_What? How could_ — _why would Jacob do such a thing?_

Bastion's on his knees again screaming his rage at his defeat for what must be the tenth time. I can't help but release a giggle full of nervous energy, shock, and bewilderment at what's happening. It's too far-fetched.

_Jacob turned himself in? What's he playing at?_

" _You!"_ Bastion screams at me from his position under Jacob's feet. "You're laughing at _me?! You?"_

"No?" I call out weakly.

"Now you've done it," Margo chuckles. "My brother can absolutely not take a defeat gracefully. He has to save his pride."

"You think you can do better than me?" he yells from the ring.

My hands come up in a universal sign of surrender and I try to take a step back. "Of course not, I wasn't laughing at you."

Jacob steps forward, as if to intervene in case Bastion decides to go crazy and start wreaking havoc.

Everyone's stopped what they're doing. The other Fera males look nervously towards the guards and a few tug on their collars. Hopefully if things start getting messy they're not the ones caught in the crossfire.

"Yes you were. I heard you. I _saw_ you. If you think it's so funny then get up here. See if you can do better than me."

Margo laughs hard at my side and pushes me forward, closer to the ring. I press back against Margo's hands in fright.

"I wasn't laughing at him."

"It doesn't matter. Go. This will be entertaining," she says. "I want to see this, and don't worry — Nine isn't allowed to draw any blood. Worst case is he'll make your face symmetrical again with another nice shiner for the other eye."

I glance around and catch Paul's eye but he's also nodding in encouragement. Probably happy to watch the human girl get knocked flat on her arse.

Bastion walks over, pulls me in between the sparring ring ropes and pushes me towards Jacob. "You think fighting's so funny. You think it's so easy. You do it."

"Bast, you're such a child!" Margo laughs. "I can't believe how petty you are. You weren't this bad at the academy."

Bastion scrambles out of the ring to stand by his sister's side. "It's bullshit, Marge. If I was able to kill him I would've won those fights. You know I would've. I'm sick of his shit every damn week."

"You _are_ able to kill them, you sore loser. It's them who aren't allowed to hurt you."

I stand in the middle of the ring unsure about what I'm supposed to be doing.

"Up for this, pretty maid? Want a chance to beat up a Fera?"

"You know I don't," I roll my eyes as the corner of Jacob's lips twitch up into a fleeting smile. "I don't know the first thing about fighting. I barely know how a slap works. Why am I here doing this?"

"Because human males need time to cool off after they're beaten by animals. Will you need time to cool off when I beat you?"

" _If_ you beat me," I correct with a smile.

His smile in return, a genuine, full smile, makes my heart skip a beat.


	8. First Descent

I stand before Jacob with barely a meter of space to separate us. Despite the trust I have in him to not do me any lasting harm I'm suddenly nervous of what a fight with him might bring. Hopefully no more bruises.

Who knows how much hatred he's really harbouring under that smile for me. For all humans. In that sense, it's reassuring that he thinks I'm a weak runt because as he said, he doesn't hurt the weak.

I take in his stance; his shoulders are pulled back, feet apart with his dominant foot just slightly back and to the side. A powerful stance that will likely give him the advantage for an opponent in front of him. I quickly try to copy his pose to pretend I know what I'm doing, but my knees feel uncomfortable and awkward, and my hips ache at the misalignment. Nonetheless I curl my fists at my sides, just like his.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide his amusement.

"I'm getting ready to fight."

"Are you sure?"

I quickly double check my form to make sure it's similar enough to his. "I'm fairly sure?"

He casually walks forward to close the space between us and instead of moving back, as I very much want to, I take a slow, confused swing at his face, stopping just before I hit his nose.

"Dead?"

His large hand envelopes my fist and brings it down from his face to his shoulder. A shudder runs through my body at the heated skin on skin contact.

"Not even close." He pushes my fist against his shoulder with a light amount of pressure until a small throb of pain begins to pulse around my thumb.

"Ow!" I yank my hand back and shake it out, tenderly rubbing the thumb joint to relieve the ache.

"Never enclose your thumb in your fist," he says. "If you were to have hit me you'd have broken your own hand."

He raises his hands up and with exaggerated movements makes a fist. Twiddling his thumbs out he curls them under his knuckles and punches the air a few times. "See. Nice and secure."

I copy him and he gives a sharp nod of approval.

"A feeble punch wouldn't have done any damage, so you can't call 'dead'. You have to get your enemy into a position that you know if it was real combat there's no coming back from."

"You're hardly my enemy–"

With a sudden drop he hooks his arm around the back of my knees and tugs just hard enough to throw me off balance. My feet fly out from under me and I only have time to release a gasp of surprise before his other hand is around my back. He slowly lowers me to the ground and then presses lightly on my windpipe.

"Dead," he says in a bored tone, stretched out over me. I desperately try to mimic that bored look to not let him know that being splayed out underneath him is making my heart figuratively burst from my chest.

"I wasn't ready," I say breathlessly. He stands back into his original position and I quickly follow.

Determined to do better I don't waste any time before throwing another punch, with thumbs _out,_ at Jacob's face. He doesn't blink as my fist again hovers just in front of his nose. Unsure about what to do now, mostly because I simply refuse to hit him in the face, I poke out my index finger to lightly tap his nose.

_Boop._

He jerks his head back in confusion as raucous laughter from the others sound out.

"What are you doing?" I ask him. "Why aren't you blocking my attacks?"

"I'd block an attack if you ever made one. Stop restraining yourself and hit me."

"But I don't want to hurt you."

More laughter from the boys. I fix them with a steely glare that does absolutely nothing to silence them.

"Fight him or get out," Bastion yells.

They're getting impatient with my lack of entertainment value so I shrug at Jacob and pretend to stretch out my arms.

"Okay, if you're sure. Don't say I didn't warn you."

I bounce back to give myself some room and strike with medium force straight into his pec. His completely solid, rock hard pec that doesn't move at all under my attack. His shirt barely shifts with the effort and the impact runs up my arm in spasms. I strike out again with my other hand and clumsily try to kick his thigh when my punch does nothing.

He swats my leg away with an impatient hand. Like shooing away a fly that's on the verge of being annoying.

"You have to use your entire body weight in your attack. Center yourself. Use the ground for power and your core muscles to throw the punches."

"Stop giving me advice on how to hurt you."

"You can't hurt me," he scoffs. "You're not even trying."

"I _am_ trying _._ It's not my fault you're made of stone, you gargoyle."

He studies me for a moment, and a look that I can only describe as calculating passes over him. "Let's try this: if you manage to land any attack, one single attack, on me that makes me move at least an inch you can consider it a win."

"Move you an inch. That's it?"

"That's it."

I glance over him from head to toe, trying to determine whether he's serious or not. Surely a kick into the back of his knees would send him to the ground. And if all else fails I can try to tackle him down. I know I'm not a betting sort of girl but the opportunity is too good to pass up.

"Are there any stakes? A reward if I win?"

"No."

"How about a favour. If I win I get to clean your cage-area, and if you win I'll owe you."

It really sounds like a win-win for him to me because I know he doesn't need a favour. If he asked for anything I would try my best to get it for him if or when the time came. I'd do it for any of the men, and I'd like to think they know that.

Jacob mulls it over before he gives a curt nod and the next second I race forward to collide into his body with a solid _thud._ A few sympathetic _oohs_ from behind makes my ears burn. I push back from him and use my shoulder to try to shove him back. Nothing. I push at him with all my unsubstantial might, pressing my feet hard into the ground until I'm moving _myself_ back from the pressure.

"Hut! Hut!" someone calls, which elects several more laughs.

Dropping down to my knees I tug at those thick, tree-trunk ankles of his with both hands a few times.

"As much as I enjoy the sight of a female human bowing at my feet I don't think you'll accomplish much down there. I can't imagine an enemy would allow it, either."

I bounce up and slap his chest lightly with an open palm. Then slap it again a bit harder when he does nothing but smile down at me from that impossible height.

_He's. Just. So. Arrogant,_ I think in between the pectoral hits. I don't hit him hard enough to hurt or even sting, but the feel of his muscle tensing under my palm is strangely addicting that it takes a few more hits for me to stop.

"Giving up already?" he says as I slide around him to his back.

"You wish," I huff and drop down to push at the back of his knees. They're as solid as his cage bars. "Even your _knees_?"

He chuckles softly to himself and although I love the sound I don't want to lose. The thought of faking an injury to throw him off guard crosses my mind, but I tune it out. That seems too cowardly and sneaky of a way to win, and I'd likely lose whatever trust is building up between us, but there's nothing at all I can do. It's either concede defeat or...

I come back around to face him and glance down just below his belly button, hoping he thinks I'm looking at his crotch. Jacob takes the bait, his eyes narrowing in understanding and I mutter a quick, "Sorry" before kicking out a leg in that general direction.

His hand snaps out and grabs the heel of my foot before it can make contact, not that it would have. He squeezes a harsh grip around my ankle and somehow - _somehow_ \- manages to get me off the ground and flip me onto my stomach through my foot alone.

My breasts flatten painfully on the hard arena mat but the pain disappears the second I feel Jacob's ragged breath on my neck and his harden torso flat against my back, pinning me down with his weight.

Using the heel of his palm he keeps me immobile under him and I don't dare to squirm. To breathe. This is far too close to a mating position for my liking and considering Jacob's sudden tension on top of me I think he's working that out, too.

"Don't try that again," he growls deeply into my ear. From the tension in his muscles alone I know he wants to move away. "I might want pups some day."

_Pups.._. _He's mentioned that before. Likely a canine species then. A wolf like Sam?_

"You moved," I manage to cough out. "I win. I wasn't really going to kick you there, you know."

"If that's as far as your offensive abilities go make sure the only fights you pick are with small children and _large_ men."

The innuendo isn't lost on me, surprisingly.

"This is a waste of time," I hear Margo say from the sidelines. She's not trying to keep quiet at all. "I thought it'd be entertaining but it's basically boring, straight foreplay."

"You didn't really think they'd fight, did you? She looks like she'd struggle to break a twig, and we both know what he can do," Bastion replies.

"I didn't think she'd be this pathetic."

A harsh rumble sounds out from Jacob's chest behind me, vibrating through my very bones and down to my toes. His fingers clench at the side of my head and I swear I can almost hear the harsh, gnashing grind of his teeth through closed lips. I still instantly, and let my body go limp to play dead.

"They call you pathetic when they would have no chance against me," Jacob breathes hard in my ear. "There's no shame in the fact that you are no match for me."

Damn it. I'm burning from head to toe in embarrassment but I just can't help myself, I don't want him to think that of me. I don't want him to think I'm entirely helpless, even if I _am_ a terrible fighter. I want to be a match for him. I want to win.

"You're all talk," I manage to grunt out, my breathing shallow from the lack of lung space. "That's why you wait for others to make the first move."

"Is that so." His voice, dark, sensual, and just a little ominous, causes light goosebumps on my arms. He eases up off me and I wait until he's far enough away that my instincts lessen and my body is my own to command.

I push myself up and turn to face him properly. "Yeah. Maybe you're right and I'm not great on the offense, but maybe _you're_ not either. Why don't _you_ try to attack _me_?"

"You want me to hurt you?" he grinds out. "I won't. I'm not allowed to, unless you're trying to trick me into being punished which I won't fall for."

"No tricks. I want to prove I'm not pathetic."

A click in his jaw. "You're no more pathetic than any other human here. You don't have to prove that."

"Still, I want to try. If you… if you manage to knock me down within, let's say a minute, then you win. Otherwise I do. Agreed?"

"But you are so light." He seems almost confused. It's clear he just expects me to stand there and take his hits, just like he did.

Soft mumbling from the others replace the laughter or scoffs I'm expecting at my proposal. Do they think it's a crazy idea? Maybe. But as I jump lightly on the balls of my feet I know I've made the right choice.

It's hard for Jane and I to connect mentally on command. It's impossible to do when I'm afraid and she's only really taken notice of our communication when I'm in doe form but her instincts can still ring through me when I'm human. Her "deer in the headlights" trick has caught me off guard at wrong times in the past, and her instincts to run is nearly always on full blast. It's never served me any purpose as a human before, but now, standing in front of a man who can only be described as a predator and never as prey, that instinct to run might be my lucky break.

I pull down deep inside me and grasp onto that feeling; the paranoia and heightened sense of smell and sound that only fear can produce. I grasp onto it and I don't let go.

Faint tremors course my body and if I could see myself I'd guess my pupils are dilated to take in more of my surroundings; to help me escape.

"Agreed?" I repeat. He's taking too long and I'm beginning to burn out.

"Agreed. I will try not to hurt you."

"Thanks."

He walks forward and I counter with a quick jump back. Another step forward and I take three quick ones away.

"It's not wise to run from a Fera," he says darkly. "Too many of us enjoy the chase."

"Then chase," I tease, my voice a mere whisper.

His steps aren't slow any more as he leaps towards me in a fluid bound but I've already anticipated it and I'm well away from where he hits. He lands with his knuckles pressed firmly against the mat and turns to look at me in surprise.

"All right," is all he says.

_Run left!_ my instincts all but scream at me and I take a dive just in time to feel Jacob's body rush past in a blur of heat and skin. He's fast. Scrambling up I jump over his hand that reaches for me and race to the other side of the mat.

Cheers begin to ring out and while I know they should be encouraging or motivating, it simply makes me more aware of all the threats around me. Their movement is being calculated swiftly in my mind before I can filter them out.

Too many possibilities.

It almost costs me as I duck and roll a second too late; quickly enough to not be caught but not fast enough to avoid the fingers that grab onto my hair for just a fraction of a second before letting go just as fast.

"Having trouble?" I say panting as he stops to reassess our positions. "Your minute's almost up."

I feint a right and he falls for it, lunging at the now empty space, his muscles rippling deliciously as he hits the floor heavily. Pride is a foreign feeling, but one I shamelessly embrace as I watch him rub his jaw while his eyes scan me in what I hope is appreciation.

He pretends to crouch down to leap but takes a running slide at me at the last second and I almost trip up over my feet as I jump clumsily over his feet to the side. We both hit the mat at the same time.

_He's down, run. Run!_ The longer I stay in the arena the less and less useful Jane's instincts are becoming. She doesn't understand why I'm not bolting far away at every opportunity.

_No, no, run!_

I try to reign in her fears a little to concentrate on avoiding the massive body that keeps coming my way but it's hard. It's too hard.

Real fear is beginning to curl its icy talons in me and I can't work out why. It's suddenly not a game any more. I scan the room left to right, shaking my head as I back away.

"No," I whisper. Jacob must understand my change as he stands up out of his lunging crouch and just stares in confusion. Just like the rest of them.

He straightens up and walks straight to me to place a hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? We can stop."

At his contact Jane, and all her fear-filled thoughts and instincts, disappear from my mind. I send him a timid smile and rub my temple. "Sorry, just a headache."

Instead of replying he whirls me around and puts me behind him so fast I cling to his shirt to steady myself.

Not two seconds later I hear a cold voice, quiet and yet thunderous at the same time, say, "Who has authorised this?"

Edward.

I peek from around Jacob's shoulder to watch as Edward and more of his guardsmen enter the training room.

_Doesn't he have work to do?_

I clutch pathetically at Jacob's back, as Jane's instincts flare to life again. She knows who would win in a fight between the two males. She can sense who's more dominant and is placing her chips down on Jacob's side.

Unfortunately she doesn't seem to realise that human life isn't as black and white as hers and the physically weakest man can sometimes be the most powerful.

"Isabella," Edward calls out. "Get out of that thing and away from that _thing_."

Jacob's stance becomes wider and more threatening, almost like he's stopping me from obeying the order or hiding me behind him. He must be running on instincts himself because I know there's no way he'd risk an electrocution for a human girl.

"Don't," I tell him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder before moving out from behind him. I quickly exit the ring, almost tripping over Nicholas still propped up on the ring's edge in my haste.

Margo and Bastion are locked in one of their military salutes. I stand off to the side, behind Margo a little just in case siding with the males in the room somehow threatens Edward and his invisible power hierarchy.

"Well?" Edward spits at them. "Which one of you authorised my servant to get into a fight with the animal?"

The armed guards at Edward's back shuffle nervously. One subtly flicks the safety off his gun and a few others follow suit. Surely that's not necessary.

"I did, sir," Bastion states. His face is calm but the sweat dripping from his brow gives away his nervousness.

The Fera men are wisely staying as far away as possible and from my peripherals I can see one of them is helping Nicholas up to his feet.

"Is that true, Isabella?" Edward asks me and I quickly snap my attention back to him. He doesn't seem at all concerned with the bruising on my face. Bastard.

"I'm sorry, Master," I whisper meekly. "Is what true?"

"Don't play dumb. Did this man tell you to get into a fight with a feral?" His eyes slide over to Margo where they narrow in distaste. "Or is he covering up for his sister?"

"He did," I reply, hoping I'm not making some mistake or failing some loyalty test. Bastion _did_ confess after all and I don't want to lie directly to Edward. Not when my face is still feeling so tight.

"Ah, that's right." He clicks his fingers. "His sister said something different to you, didn't she?"

Margo's posture stiffens even further and the hand that holds her military gesture so perfectly starts to falter. Something eerily similar to fear passes over her face and I know it passes over mine at the same time.

He has eyes everywhere.

"I suppose so," I say, looking down to my clasped hands.

"What did she say to you? What poison did she whisper into your ear before her brother forced you to fight like a barbarian? What were the words?"

He's too calm. He knows exactly what she's said: loser, pathetic, and Margo and I both know it, but she hasn't confessed so neither will I.

"I don't remember, I'm really sorry."

"I find that hard to believe, Isabella."

"There was so much happening and I was nervous about the fighting going on. It was all so overwhelming that I couldn't concentrate. Everything said to me just went in one ear and out the other."

"Now that I do believe." He turns to Margo. "I don't suppose you remember what your traitorous tongue whispered?"

"No, sir," Margo says softly.

Edward shrugs a delicate shoulder up to his ear, poised as always, as if he couldn't care less that Margo's forgotten. He saunters over to whisper some harsh words into Bastion's ear and then heads towards the exit. A handful of guards follow like lost puppies and he engages one of them in conversation.

A quick visit then, probably to show everyone his power. I close my eyes briefly in gratitude.

"Marge," Bastion whispers.

"Thanks for not saying anything," Margo says, turning to me with a sigh of relief. Her arm comes down from the salute and she runs a shaky hand through her short, sweaty hair. "Oh man, I'm going to have to—" _**Bang!**_ "... be …"

There's silence for just a moment but that single moment feels like a lifetime. The world is still, unmoving like a photograph, as I take in everything around me: the faint trail of smoke, Margo with her gaping mouth and bulging eyes. I don't understand why she's not speaking anymore — is it because of all the blood?

The world speeds back up and I glance down at myself.

There's blood on my hands, up my arms, splattered on my shirt. I can taste it in my mouth and something squishy begins to slide down my face. Pieces of red, rubbery slime fall into my hand when I reach up to it. I squeeze it lightly.

Brain.

Someone's screaming in the distance but I can't hear it properly. All I can hear is a dull ringing in my ears. Is it me? Is it Bastion?

Chaos picks up around us and I can hear someone — a familiar demon — yelling about gossiping servants and order while a pair of hands pull me back from the woman who's only now just beginning to fall to the ground.

_Someone needs to help her,_ my brain whispers calmly. For once my doe isn't scared about the mayhem happening around me. She's not here at all. I can't feel her. I'm too calm for her to be worried. I feel like I'm calm, at least. Maybe I'm panicking like the rest of them; there's too much fog in my head to think about it too much.

"She's in shock," I hear someone say before warm hands scoop me up off the ground.

_Was I on the ground?_

The demon that insisted I call him Master is shouting orders and before I know it I'm back up in the Fera's enclosure. All of them are locked back away and all of them are looking at me. I can feel it as vividly as I can feel the woman's blood still dripping from my body.

"Keep cleaning," a guard tells me and shoves my cleaning rag back into my hands. "You didn't see anything. You don't say anything unless you want us both to end up with a bullet in the head, okay sweetness?"

Cleaning. I'm good at that. Perhaps he won't want to kill me either if I do a good job at it. If I stop causing so much trouble for him.

I scrub hard and I scrub furiously.

When he leaves I hear the groan of metal and something warm is draped over my shoulders. Large hands press the cloth into me and they rub at my skin in firm circles. It feels nice. Warm.

"Let's get you cleaned up," a husky voice says as the warm hand tips my head back.

Water drips on my face and a wet cloth glides over my dirty skin, removing the red stains and black clumps. When my face is clear it moves to my neck and arms.

"That looks to be it," the voice says. "Are you okay? You're still shivering."

The warm hand rests on my back and I dip my cleaning rag back into the bucket.

"I'm… good."

I am. I'm not a troublemaker.

I clean.

Days pass; maybe two, maybe three. It's hard to keep track when my body's running on autopilot and my mind sometimes wanders away while I work to play in my imagination world. The men in the cages try to talk to me every now and then and I know I reply but it's hard to remember what I say. Kind words, I think. Normal words, I hope.

On particularly cold moments of the day, when I find myself shivering unconsciously, a large warm furry body always finds its way to my side. Sometimes I pat it, sometimes I hug it, and sometimes I ignore it entirely. No matter what I choose the furry body never minds but simply lies there to keep me warm.

I give Jacob the food I find in the chute each day and he always takes it without a word. Sometimes his fingers grasp my wrist before he takes the food and wildly I think he might do it on purpose, just to see if the zombie still has a heartbeat.

"It's too early for you to quit like this," he said at one point. He was angry. He always seems angry or frustrated. I ignore him.

When I make my way to my room for the night I usually get a visit from Alice, who brings me a tray of food for dinner. It's usually a large, hearty meal, and it's the only thing I eat during the day. I simply forget to wake up or make it to the dining hall in time for regular meals.

Whether she's going against Edward's wishes to feed me I don't know but my stomach is always growling so fiercely that I don't care if she is. I scoff it down and listen as she makes polite conversation with me about everything going on in the house. Nothing stands out of any interest to me. The soldiers are never brought up.

I must be doing something right because Edward doesn't call for me, doesn't speak to me, and barely gives me a glance of recognition at the times I pass him on my way to the showers or laundry room. Perhaps I'm the one with the obsession because I could swear on my own life that at night, in those moments that I wake up shaking from a deep sleep, his shadow stands in the corner of my bedroom — watching me as I slumber uneasily.

I pretend not to see it and hide under the quilt.

* * *

"Is shock supposed to last this long?" Sam asks one day while I'm scrubbing at the same point on the floor I have been for the last hour.

The blood's just not coming off. It's permanently etched into the steel flooring and I'm closer to scrubbing off my own fingerprints at this rate.

One of the men begins making idle conversation, as they tend to do. Some days they have to stop midway through talking to go somewhere, and when they come back hours later there's always more blood for me to clean up.

It's endless.

"Hey Bella, do you know the story about how we came to exist?" Paul asks.

"No," I say softly. My arms are itchy. The uniform I was given back from the seamstress is different: short and tighter the fabric rubs against my skin in an irritating way. Thankfully I haven't heard any sneers or mocking comments about it.

"Do you want to hear it?"

I nod once.

"It's been said that long ago humans angered the gods by having _carnal relations_ with the animals the gods provided them to eat. As punishment, every descendant of those humans that were with the animals would themselves turn into the beast their ancestors defiled."

"That's not the story I heard," I say as the others grumble about how disturbing and insulting Paul's one is. They've all heard it before, though.

I haven't. Charlie likely sheltered me from any mentions of bestiality but I did go to a public school and they would've been laughing themselves silly over that one. There's been no end to the speculation over how Feras came to be from aliens to demons, but most people write it down as a poor version of man's evolution and move on.

"Oh?" Jacob says. "What story have you heard about our beginnings?"

Damn it. Somehow the blood from the floor has made it's way up my arms and over my hands. I let the conversation and Jacob's question fall into background noise and start to rub hard against my skin. It hurts and I stifle the smallest of whimpers as I scrub.

"Bella," Jacob's voice drifts over to me. It's soft. Soothing. Like it has been for the past few days. He's not very intimidating when he doesn't want to be. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning. There's blood everywhere and it's hard to get off."

The sound of steel being pulled distracts me just enough to watch as Jacob leaves his cage and walks over. He kneels beside me and takes the rag from my hand. There's no blood on it. I must not be scrubbing hard enough.

"You won our fight," he says and helps me to my feet. "Surprised the hell out of me, I'll give you that."

"It wasn't a real fight. I'd never win in a real fight."

"You might if you moved the way you did. If you weren't human I'd peg you for a slippery eel that I wouldn't be able to get my hands on."

"Or a doe. They're kind of slippery."

"A bunny, too." He pauses. "Do you want to cash in your win and clean my room? I'll help guide you in the dark."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"I don't mind."

My hand tightens on his and I give him a curt nod. He helps me into his cage, through the broken bars, and guides me a little further into the darkness. He pushes the cleaning rag back into my hand and says, "You can sit here. It's clean enough and there's a little blood just in front of you on the ground."

I don't question how he can see that when I can't, I just sink to the ground and begin my routine again. Blocking out the others is usually easy when I get into my work but when Jacob sits down next to me it's hard to think of anything else but him.

"Pretty screwed up what happened to the female trainer, wasn't it," he says and my body stills.

Images of that day flash before my eyes: of Margo's face and her fear. My hand begins to shake again but Jacob curls his over it to help me scrub his floor. When I get back into the rhythm he removes it from mine.

"I don't feel sorry about it," he continues. "She was sadistic. Made us train against each other as a group with knives or guns. On the rare occasion she'd replace the rubber balls in our guns with bullets but we quickly learnt to 'miss' our first few shots just to check."

"That's terrible," I whisper.

"Yeah and she loved her knife play. I think she got off on cutting us because she ordered us to be still while she used her knife. There was no training there. Said we needed to learn to handle pain, as if we haven't been learning that our whole lives. No, she liked to touch our blood and rub her fingers over it."

"Jacob…"

"When I heard him order the guard to shoot, for a second I thought he meant you. In that second I was angry. Whatever game you might be playing with us, getting us to trust you or deceiving us for him, it didn't matter. You're the first to treat us with any sort of respect in a long while and I was angry he was about to ruin that. Seeing blondey die was a relief. I'm just sorry you had to witness it."

I bow my head and rub my stinging eyes with my arm. "He just shot her."

"He did."

"I saw her face. She was so scared but she didn't know she was going to die. She was talking to me and then she was dead. I saw the bullet exit her head."

"That must've been scary for you. You haven't seen anyone die before, I take it?"

I shake my head. Without realising it tears are streaming down my face and I'm breathing in giant gulps.

"I don't want to be here," I drop the cloth, pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them. "He just killed her. I can still see it all happening in my head. I had her brain in my hands… I had her blood in my _mouth_. I'm going to be next. He's always so mad at me. I try to do things right but I never can. He's going to kill me."

"He's not." His voice is firm, unrelenting, and safe. I almost trust he's telling the truth. "Listen to me, Bella. He won't."

"And if he can do that to a human and get away with it what can he do to you? To the others?"

"I know," he states simply. "I know."

I cry and cry until there are physically no more tears left. I cry out my anger, my frustration, my fears and worries. I cry out my self-pity and trepidations until I have to lay down exhausted in Jacob's cold cell.

He must have a better sense of time in this underground prison because he says, "It's late. You can sleep here, if you like."

It's tempting, but I'm beyond cold, already freezing in this steel cage and short skirt, and I know the temperature will only get worse. I need to get back to my small bedroom with my thick quilt and shadows that move. My body doesn't agree with me, however, and when I try to get up I collapse back down with tired, heavy limbs.

I didn't realise how exhausted I was.

"I want to but I'll freeze to death."

"You won't," he says.

Before I can argue I hear the unmistakeable sound of a Fera shift; the bones snapping and flesh tearing as the human body becomes something larger than what it can contain.

I don't even have the energy to be surprised when a wet nose prods my cheek. It's too dark to see what he is but whatever it is he's large. Much larger than both a wolf and a bear, but with such warm fur that when he moves around my freezing body it feels like the sun is beating down. Warming me from the inside out. My own personal sun, curled up around me.

"You were my warm furry body before."

He prods my cheek again.

Through my tired mind I realise just how intimate our positions are. How vulnerable Jacob must be and just how _trusting_ he is if he's willing to lie next to a human in his animal form that's likely running high on instincts.

I sniffle into his fur, not entirely sure what part of his body that is, and finally, for the first time in days, drift off into a peaceful sleep without any nightmares or shadows to watch out for.

* * *

The next morning comes around much too quickly and I'm roused awake by an insistent hand on my shoulder.

"You have to leave," Jacob tells me stiffly. "Go, before anyone notices you've been in here all night. I hope I don't need to threaten you to not speak a word about what you heard, saw, or felt last night."

There's a sliver of drool on my cheek that I wipe away hastily before I turn to face him. The ground underneath me is still warm from his body heat and I'm hesitant to leave it, but I get up anyway.

"Of course not."

I have to move on. I have to continue to face this terrible world and do the best I can in it. Some part of me must've healed in Jacob's embrace last night because my mind is once again clear and although I'll never forget the moment Margo was shot in front of me, or forget the feeling of her blood, it's something I think I can handle.

_I won't break down again,_ I tell myself. Too many days have been spent on autopilot.

Jacob helps me exit the cage through the bars he never bothered closing up last night.

"I don't know what to say," I tell him as he releases my arm. "I don't know how to thank you for last night."

"Don't thank me," he says tight-lipped. "It didn't mean a thing."

Before I can stop myself my hands are around his waist, my cheek against his torso (he's just too tall for anything else) and I squeeze very lightly. My first genuine hug with someone other than my father. It's a little sad.

I pull away just enough to crane my head up.

"It meant everything to me. More than you know. Thank you."


	9. No Surprise is a Good Surprise

Jacob takes two large steps back into the shadows the instant I pull away from him.

_Way to make a girl feel wanted,_ I think with a laugh, not even trying to seek him out in the darkness. One would think no-one's ever dared to hug the man before, but from my own experiences with physical contact from strangers I slowly realise that might actually be true.

Damn, I hope I didn't overstep his boundaries. I begin to head back to him to apologise but forcefully stop myself.

_No, Bella, he's a big boy. He can handle a hug._

Turning on my heel I move towards the exit and pause. There's something decidedly off about the room that I just can't put my finger on.

"Something's different in here," I say.

"Nope," Evan says with a tilted head. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

The steel walls are gleaming brilliantly — the harsh white light from above reflecting off its surface in a bright glow, giving a fake warmth to the cold room. I skim a finger over the wall I was so busy scrubbing at yesterday when it clicks.

"It's so clean in here," I murmur, turning to face them. "Even your cages look new."

"There hasn't been any visible blood for two days. You're a cleaning machine, lady."

"But…" I look down to my raw arms, pink and sore. "Oh. There wasn't anything to clean yesterday, was there. I was rubbing bare walls and arms."

"Yeah." He glances at the others. "You were starting to scare us, and trust me when I say that's almost impossible to do lately."

I shake my head. It's best not to think about it.

"No wonder I feel so tired," I laugh. "Well, I'm back on my game. My head's clear and it's probably time for breakfast, so I'll be back soon with the food bag."

"Can't you bring us some croissants or muffins instead?" Evan groans. "I haven't had one in so long, my mouth is watering just thinking about it."

"She's not the cook here," Paul says from his corner. "And from the looks of her she wouldn't know how to make anything with carbs." His smile is all pointed teeth. "Or meat."

My arms cross in indignation. "I'll have you know I'm a good cook."

"Of course you are."

"I am. One day, when I'm old and retired, and living in my own house, I'm going to make a huge banquet of just pasta, bread, and pastries. I'll make you come eat your words."

The thought that most, if not all of them, will be dead by then crosses my mind. It crosses theirs as well judging by their weak half-hearted attempts at a smile and laugh. I shuffle my feet uncomfortably for just a second.

"Back soon."

"Hey, Bella?"

I turn to the sound of Evan's voice. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're okay."

My chin dips and I squeeze my lips tight. "Me too."

By the time I reach my rooms Alice is already there, breakfast tray in hand, looking around for me. I give her a small smile.

"Morning," I say brightly. "That for me?"

She nods and hands me the tray that I put off to the side on my drawers. Her eyes roam over my figure and I run my hands down my clothes to try to smooth out the creases that formed when I was sleeping. "What are you wearing?"

"My uniform," I say with a hint of confusion. "I have work to do?"

"Not on a Saturday you don't."

" _Saturday?_ " It's already been a whole week since I arrived? I guess the days went by a lot quicker when I was in shock. "I didn't realise; I thought it was Friday. I'll get changed now."

"It looks like you've slept in it," she says. Her brow furrows further when she notes the state of my bed; unslept in. "Bella?"

"I know how it looks, but I was just really tired from how hard I've been working and didn't realise how exhausted I was until I fell straight asleep in my bed. Then I got up early and figured it wasn't that big of a problem to not wash my uniform."

A touch of sympathy bleeds into her face and she looks at me in concern. One hand brushes my shoulder. "Are you sure that's it? No-one made you sleep somewhere else; somewhere you might not have wanted? Someone who you might feel you can't say no to… your boss for example?"

I jerk back from her in surprise. He's seedy and more than a little creepy but that idea never crossed my mind, and now my anxiety is kicked up another notch.

"No way! I'd have the police here in a heartbeat. Is that the sort of behaviour I have to worry about from Edward?"

"No," she gasps. "It was hypothetical. I didn't say anyone specifically, I was just worried. Sorry, let's forget it."

I can't forget it, but for her sake I'll drop it for now. She hovers around while I get changed into a warm, casual outfit, and eat the cold toast and porridge on the breakfast tray. There might've been a time that I would selfishly grumble about eating such a bland, tasteless meal, but thinking about the sack of stale food, tossed down a metal tube, that I give Jacob every morning has me thanking the gods for it.

"Here," Alice says when I finish my last spoonful. She reaches into her woolly coat and removes an envelope, yellowed with age. "I thought I'd bring this to you in person. It's your weekly pay cheque. Not really a cheque though because the Master likes to pay in cash — no paper trail that way, you see."

She pushes the bulky envelope into my cold hands and with a curious glance back to her I rip it open, cutting my finger in my haste. It's full of cash. A _lot_ of cash. A few hundred more than I was ever expecting to get.

"Wow," I say quietly. "Is Edward always so generous with the pay?"

Alice sneaks a glance, unable to tame her own curiosity, and whistles low. "No. He must really like you. I usually only get fifty to eighty dollars a week, and I spend nearly all of it on the basics like tampons and new underwear. Can you believe he doesn't consider them to be necessities?"

I definitely can believe it from a man like that.

I flip through the wad of bills, counting each one carefully. Seven hundred dollars. For a single week. Without even needing to worry about board and bills! I know my work is hard but only emotionally, not so much physically.

"What am I supposed to do with all this?"

"Start saving up for your retirement or buy clothes or jewelry. Maybe some perfume, it still kind of stinks down here."

I slide the cash envelope into the pocket of my hoodie and give it a solid pat for good measure. "You said you go out to pick up the household groceries. When do you do that?"

"Several times a week. I'm going out today in about an hour, actually. We don't have any lambs' hearts stocked so of course that's what Edward wants to eat for dinner."

"Would it be okay if I came with you to start spending this money? I won't be any trouble, I promise."

"Oh." She rubs the back of her neck uneasily. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Normally the servants just write down what they want on a piece of paper and someone goes out to fulfill orders once a month."

" _Please_ , Alice," I beg. "I need to breathe in some fresh air. Being trapped underground for a week has been draining me more than you'd know."

"You can go outside whenever you want. You're not trapped there forever — you're not like the prisoners."

"It's not just the air, I need to be away from here if only for a little while. Especially after what happened to Margo…"

She sighs long and hard, frustrated. "All right, fine. I don't think it's breaking any rules, but if anything happens you feign ignorance okay?"

"It's what I do best."

"Meet me at the front door, outside, in an hour. If you're not there I'm going without you."

The moment she leaves to head back upstairs I run to where I've hidden my notebook, stashed under a pile of clothes, and rip out the section where I've written down the items requested by the Feras. I fold it up and place it in my pocket before going out to begin my morning routine.

* * *

"What's got you in such a good mood?" Sam asks in between mouthfuls of food. "Does it have anything to do with why our dear leader has been pacing since you left?"

_Has he?_ I file the information mentally away under 'things that probably mean nothing and should definitely not think about so I don't go crazy'.

"Maybe she had a good night sleep," Embry says slyly. "She looked cozy."

"She might've but the rest of us sure didn't with all that snoring," Evan pipes in. "I can't believe the amount of noise that came out of such a tiny girl."

My mouth hangs open as I look to them mortified. "Evan, you're lying, I don't snore." When he doesn't answer but merely keeps smiling I turn to Jacob. "Right?"

"You don't snore. You slept like a baby, actually," he says, which I'm not sure is any better.

It now occurs to me that while Jacob trusted me enough to shift in front of me — granted it was in the darkness so I couldn't see a thing — I was also put in a vulnerable position last night. He just as easily could've ripped out my throat while I lay sleeping under his fur.

"You even cried out and grabbed onto me when I moved away to get into a more comfortable position. Very pup behaviour."

"Argh." I drop my head into my hands to hide the rising heat in my cheeks while everyone laughs. "I suppose I should be lucky you thought it was pup-like when you could've ripped my head off."

The men quieten and glance at each other, while a few send hurt looks my way.

"Ripped your head off? You still think we're the vicious monsters here, don't you," Jacob growls out. "No matter what we do or what we say, no matter what _you_ say, you can never fully trust us."

"Whoa, hey, no I didn't mean anything like that. I just meant that I know it would be a struggle to contain your other-form's instincts so if it saw me as a threat…"

"You don't know what you're talking about," he snaps. "Maybe a child would have a little trouble but we don't."

A _child_? "So you're telling me that in your other form you are completely conscious and aware of what's happening? That you can control your body?"

"Of course we can. Why else would we be useful as soldiers if we couldn't control our own damn bodies."

I put my hands up. "Okay, I'm sorry I said anything."

"You don't believe me," he mutters. And he's right to some degree, I don't completely believe him because I know for a fact I can't control Jane. At times I can get through, but when she's in control she's in control.

What I do believe, however, is that _he_ would have enough willpower to control his shapeshifting.

"I'm sorry, I do believe you."

Distracted by Jacob, I don't notice the little orange monkey flying at my back until its sharp claws dig into my shirt. I scream in surprise, throwing a hand back behind me to tear it away but it shuffles up over my shoulder to perch there and peer up at me with familiar eyes.

"Evan?"

The orange monkey reaches a hand out, that I instinctively try to duck, and grabs my nose before making a very human "I've got your nose" gesture.

"You see?" Jacob says. "Evan, what's four times seven?"

The monkey holds out two fingers, and then holds up eight. Then he grabs at my lips and squeezes them lightly until I laugh.

"Yeah, I see. I had no idea it could be like this."

"Who told you it couldn't?" He doesn't sound angry anymore, but interested in a cautious sort of way.

I shrug the shoulder Evan isn't perched on. "No-one. I guess I came to the conclusion on my own."

"How do you feel about us now that you know we're not even close to the animals you think we were."

"You make it sound worse than it is. If I didn't trust you in your other shape I wouldn't have slept with you." I blush hard. "I mean, I wouldn't have gone to sleep on you. Which I'm way more embarrassed about now that I know you had a human mind."

He simply smirks at me and says, "Evan, go back and change. Bella doesn't want your fur all over her."

The little monkey jumps several times and grabs at my hair and then at its own.

"I think he's trying to say he has hair, not fur," I say, laughing as the monkey bobs its head furiously in agreement. He turns to me and keeps nodding. "Yes, yes, I know you have hair."

Although that hair isn't in a nice condition. Like their human hair it's been neglected and suddenly I know what several new items to get on my outing today will be.

Monkey-Evan scuttles off my shoulder and squeezes through his cage bars. He twirls a finger around clockwise to me, telling me to turn around, and when I do I hear the shift back.

When the rustling of clothes stop I turn back. "All decent?"

"Yep!" There's more blood in his cage now because of his change from a small form into a big one, something that requires the smaller body to explode outward, but otherwise he's in fine spirits. "What did you think? Was I a cute Fera?"

"In all honesty I can say you are the cutest orange ball of fluff I've ever seen."

He beams and I grab the cleaning supplies to give his cage a quick once-over before the blood settles in. All the mess is gone in under five minutes.

"Hm." I look around. "Now that I've cleaned most of the room I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing."

"You can help scrub me down," Paul winks from his cage. "I'm too weak to bathe myself."

I blush. "I gave you guys the tools to, uh, wash yourselves; I think you can manage unless you're hurt. And you, Paul, are anything but weak. Or was I imagining all those push-ups you were doing?"

"Fine, I'm not weak, but there's a spot I can't reach just down—"

"Paul, quit it," Jacob barks out.

"Aw, what, so she's off-limits for fun now?"

"Yes."

There's an awkward pause before one of the younger males, Seth, says almost shyly, "You could tell us a story."

A story? Now that's different. "I would but I don't know many stories to tell, I'm afraid. Plus I'd probably mess it all up or forget the ending halfway through."

"I don't mind. You said yesterday you haven't heard that story Paul told about how we came to be. So I'm guessing you know another one. If it doesn't involve our ancestors humping a dog I'd like to hear it. I miss hearing stories."

The longing in his voice is heartbreaking. He's older than me but the request for nothing more than a story seems so innocent and full of hope that I might've thought him to be several years younger.

"I'll try. Let me think… have you heard the one about the moon and the sun being the world's creators?"

When Seth shakes his head I take a seat on the cold ground to get comfortable. A pillow slides my way and I look up just in time to see a hand retract back from the cage bars.

"Thanks, Nicholas," I say softly with a smile. He gives a timid one back in return and looks away. A shy one; I can definitely sympathise with that.

"Well," I start, "Long ago the moon and sun were loving sisters—"

"Why not brothers?" Seth immediately interrupts.

"Because there are already too many boy gods. Anyway, they both had incredible powers including the power to give life, and while the sun was busy creating the mountains, and the desert, and the oceans, the moon was working on the critters, both tiny and large, to live there. Most of the animals loved the moon and stayed awake while the sun was away to bathe in her moonlight. But the sun saw this and she became fiercely jealous because her mountains and lakes couldn't show the same affection the animals did. She decided to create her own type of animal that was awake while she was shining so they could worship her, and asleep while her sister was out."

"The humans, right?" Seth asks.

"Right. But the humans thought they were better than the other creatures so they started to kill them off; not for food, or for warmth, or out of self-defence, but for fun. They began to enjoy hunting the critters so much that many of the animals were killed into extinction. The moon grew angry at the savage, intelligent creatures the sun had created and she sought to rectify her sister's mistake. However, the moon didn't have the power to create humans from scratch, so at first she took human babies and changed parts of them into animals."

"Like us?"

"Stop interrupting, Seth," Paul snaps. "Keep going."

"No, not Feras, the first ones she made were literally half-animal. Centaurs and mermaids. But they were too obviously different and were quickly slaughtered by the humans and forgotten about, a myth from long ago. Then she tried a different mixture of her favourite animal, the wolf, and a human."

"Why was the wolf her favourite?"

"Because the wolf always howls at her of course. Her new creation was the first known werewolf, a man that transformed only on a full moon, when the moon was at full power. But the werewolf was vicious, uncontrollable, more monstrous and bloodthirsty than the humans with the worst traits of both animals, so with a heavy heart she stopped creating them. For a long while she gave up and let the humans continue in their savagery until she got the perfect idea.

She gathered all her energy during the year and one day released it into all the newborn humans. If they were lucky enough, they would be the ones that could change at will into one chosen animal — a whole animal, far different from the werewolves — who hopefully might gain enough empathy for her critters so they could convince the others to stop hunting. And even now she continues to gather her strength and give this gift to newborn babies every year."

Jacob suddenly snorts derisively. "Then they all get killed off as well. Not a very good plan then."

"It's just a story."

"Why are they always males? Does your story say?" Seth asks.

I shrug. "Maybe because men were the hunters while women were still gathering berries and didn't kill the animals as much. Maybe it's just luck. I don't know."

"It doesn't exactly paint humans in a good light and it kind of makes us to be the good guys," Embry says. "Who told you that one?"

"My dad," I answer. "He told me it when I was a kid so it might've been different and I simply forgot."

They must like the little fairytale because Seth doesn't stop asking questions for five minutes and the others are silent listeners, pretending not to really care but still hanging on every word. Even Jacob concedes that it's "nice" as far as origin stories for them go.

"All right," I say, getting up to stretch. "I have to go for a while but I'll be back with hopefully a nice surprise for you all."

"Nice surprise; I've heard that before and ended up getting whipped," Embry mutters.

My fists clench. "No, it's a good one. You'll see."

"You don't plan on doing anything stupid, do you?" Jacob asks wearily.

I can't help but throw him a teasing smile. "Maybe."

"Bella," he growls.

_Oh, that's sexy._

"I won't do anything stupid. You can trust me."

"You, maybe. It's the other humans I have a trust issue with."

I falter at the door, savouring and repeating his words like it was the sweetest chocolate. _You, maybe._ Hiding my smile, soft victory music plays in my head and I force myself not to skip down the corridor in joy.

* * *

Fresh air. Clean, crisp, marvelous fresh air.

I gulp it down greedily the moment I step out of the house of horrors and tilt my face up to the warm sun. Never will I ever take the simple things of sunlight and air for granted again. And I've only been missing it for a week; some of the men in with Jacob probably haven't been outside for close to four years.

My fingers curl in anger.

"Bella, come on!" Alice calls from the driver seat.

Minutes later we're out of the gates and driving through the fake woods surrounding the mansion, already hidden from view by the strategically placed trees. Fake or not it still reminds me of the reservation and forest back home, and I touch my finger to the window. How different things were for me only a week ago. How much things can change in seven days.

My mind takes in the route and road Alice is driving along just in case… in case what? I miraculously smuggle out over a dozen men from a high-security compound and need to know where I'm going?

"Has anyone ever tried to escape?" I ask Alice, playing it cool to mask my thoughts.

"The Feras? Of course they have."

"Were any successful?"

"I think you know the answer to that," she says and throws me a sharp look. "If that's what you're thinking about doing, trying to work out if you can help any escape, tell me now so I can lock you in your room. Every escape attempt has ended in a _tragic accident_ and a quick funeral."

"Maybe I'm just concerned for my safety, if they manage to steal my access card—"

"If they manage to steal your access card and they make it outside, passed all the guards and the guns and the snipers on lookout? They still won't make it. I don't know how Edward does it but under him and the previous owner, there hasn't been a single successful escape. So do _not_ think about it."

Apparently I'm too transparent so I drop the subject and lean back with a sigh.

"Who's going to replace Margo?" I say suddenly after a minute.

Alice's fingers grip the steering wheel tightly. "Margo? Who's Margo? Never heard of that name."

"I think that was her name. She was the weapons trainer for—"

"I _know_ who Margo was, I'm trying to teach you what you should say if you hear that name. She never existed to us, okay? We never heard of her. We don't know her. People die in that house often, scarily enough, but we pretend to forget they were ever there to begin with. Just like we do with the escapees."

"What about their families? Aren't there investigations?"

"Accidents happen. The house is virtually off the map, fake addresses are given when necessary, and bribes work just fine on police officers snooping around."

"So that's it? We just forget her?"

"Who?"

"Marg—"

She shoots me an exasperated look and I slump a bit further down into my seat.

"No-one, right," I huff. "How did you know about what happened to her in the first place?"

"The guards are surprisingly big gossips. I heard it all before I started bringing your food down to you after you begun missing meals. It wasn't too hard to see that the gossip was true, it was all over your catatonic face. I'm really glad you seem to be on the mend."

"Was I really that bad? It's not like I was banging my head against a wall and speaking in tongues."

"You replied to questions normally enough, but you were just not all there; your eyes seemed spacey and your voice was monotone. I can't describe it. At times you were aware and then you just clocked out."

Living it was likely easier than having to watch it happen. "I'm sorry. Thanks for not letting me starve. I owe you."

"It's not me you owe," she says and turns on the radio to drown out the conversation.

It doesn't take as long as I remember to get back into Fork's business and commercial district; probably because I'm happy to be out and knowing I'll be back underground soon is making the time slip away.

The shopping centre we pull into is gigantic — far, far grander than anything my little hometown saw. The glowing sign outside of it highlights what's available, from clothing to hardware to electronics. It's everything I can possibly want rolled up into one large building and I jump out the second Alice puts the car into park.

"Be back in an hour and a half," she demands, pointing a slim finger to me. "No dawdling and absolutely _no_ talking to anyone. If cops or journalists show up at the house both of us are dead. No cell phones either. Got that?"

"Yeah, but you're not coming with me?" I ask. The thought it both thrilling and nerve-wrecking at the same time. I could run. Run and keep running. Disappear like Margo, although hopefully not as permanently. Who could stop me?

"Nope! Getting food for everyone takes ages and I'll be grumbling the whole time. You'll be fine by yourself unless you want to come with me?"

"Nope," I parrot and begin at a jog towards the crowd, my pocket heavy with cash. "See you soon."

"I better."

I move into the crowd, keeping a firm hand on my pocket in case there are sneaky thieves about, and gracefully avoid the bodies lumbering about mindlessly. Crowds usually make me anxious; at the best of times they're suffocating and smelly, and at the worst of times they can be claustrophobic. One wrong move, one slip up, and I could be changing into my Fera form surrounded by enemies.

When the crowd thins out I slip into the first store I come across. There's just so many _things_ waiting to be bought that it's tempting not to buy everything I see. But I will myself to ignore the impulses; the men don't need a new pair of women's converse shoes or hoodie or matching bra and panties set.

_What do they need?_ I think, looking around. _Toothbrushes and scentless deodorant, definitely. New blankets. Something mentally stimulating as well._

After grabbing a few items from one store I hop to the next one, and then the next one, gleefully throwing item after item into my shopping cart. The pitiful written list in my pocket was completed within minutes and barely takes up any space in the oversized cart - now I'm shopping for pleasure. New pillows, air purifier, combs, soaps, shampoo, a divider for bathroom privacy, lots of socks, books for Seth, an electric heater, cards, plastic plates and cups.

The list keeps growing and growing. Everything I pick up off the shelf seems absolutely vital until the cashier rings it all up with an annoyed look, and I walk away out of the complex four hundred dollars lighter.

Oh well, I still have more money than I ever expected to have tucked away.

Before I leave to catch up with Alice, I make one final stop into the grocer's to pick up some food that won't spoil, no-oven baking ingredients, and as an afterthought I throw in two dozen croissants and muffins.

_We'll see who can't cook anything with carbs,_ I think with a grin, unwrapping one of the blueberry muffins for myself.

Alice is packing up her own bundles into the car by the time I arrive back. She takes one look at my bulging cart and raises an eyebrow. "No impulse control, huh?"

"You could say that."

We manage to squeeze everything in somehow and start on the short journey back. My heart's still racing at the minor rebellious act of buying the gifts. I can only hope that's not against the rules; since Margo's death I've realised I really don't want to get on Edward's bad side. His slap was bad enough but now… now I don't want to displease him at all. To just do what he says.

The buildings pass in a blur and I lean my head against the window to watch them zoom by.

"You really shouldn't be so obvious," Alice says softly.

I give her a lazy side glance. "Obvious about what?"

"About your feelings for the prisoners. If you're going to buy things for them you should buy small and build it up from there."

"What?" My head snaps up and I sit up straight as I give her my best 'are you crazy' look. "I'm not buying anything for them."

"Sure," she laughs, "I guess you just happen to need fifteen new pillows in case of emergencies."

I suck in a harsh breath. "Please don't tell anyone."

Silence stretches between us and Alice's lips pull down into a frown. She slows the car until we're going well under the speed limit, at almost a snail's pace.

"You know you're not the first or only person to want to help them, right?"

"I know," I nod slowly. "There are a few sympathisers out there."

"There's a lot more than a few. Every year when it gets close to the Hunt, activists turn up in the hundreds scattered around the business district, usually in front of the National Bank and the gambling Lodge, and begin to picket. I see them every year. Different ones every time."

"Really?" I gasp. I can't begin to imagine what that might look like.

Whenever I heard the word sympathiser I always pictured just a person quietly saying that perhaps it's wrong to imprison and hunt men, and that they're overheard and taken away. Being a sympathiser can be a death sentence. It makes no sense that someone would choose to publicly announce themselves as one.

"How is that possible? Don't they get jailed for it?"

"Every year. Jailed and beaten. A lot of them go missing but the government does just enough to keep it out of the spotlight. News reporters are forbidden by law to do stories on the protests, but if enough people start to go missing there's nothing from stopping them doing a whole segment on it. So there's a lot of jail time, fines, beatings, and for lead activists, false charges are usually conjured up so they're given capital punishment." She slides her finger across her neck for emphasis.

"They don't kill them outright? The public might even prefer that."

"No, they wouldn't. I still believe that most of us, deep down, maybe hidden away, has a conscious. They won't kill someone for being sympathetic."

"Wow." I lean back in the plush leather in a daze.

Humans as our allies? Dying for our injustices? It's unbelievable. Logically I know the humans aren't a hive-mind — I know they're individuals with their own thoughts and opinions, but hatred for shapeshifters is so commonplace it's practically an innate human trait. For goodness sake we had an entire class in school dedicated to teaching us why they don't deserve rights. I've written _multiple_ essays about it.

"But as a piece of advice," Alice continues, "Don't get attached to any of the prisoners. I know it's hard not to because you're working so closely with them but try to keep your distance. If they don't die in their cell, they'll die in the Hunt, and if they don't die there they will as a soldier. They're born to die. Maybe one day it'll change. Maybe it won't."

"It sounds like you're speaking from experience," I whisper. "Did you get attached to someone?"

Her lips crook up in a sad smile. "When I was younger and a little more naive, I admit I developed a crush on one of the men. He was so charming and handsome it was hard not to. I would sneak down and give him extra food and he'd always say 'thanks, Darlin' with an accent that drove me wild."

"What happened to him?"

"He died. Made it through the Hunt - even managed to take a bite or two out of the hunters in there which hardly ever happens. It was as hilarious to watch as it was frightening. He was an ugly little vampire bat," she laughs. "Hand to God the ugliest little thing you'd ever see, with a squashed in face and tiny rat-like fangs. But my little guy made it and moved on to be a soldier, fighting for a country that hurt him so much. He was so good at it they promoted him to Major before he was killed. I don't think it was in combat, either."

"I'm so sorry, Alice," I say softly.

She scoffs but tries to smile regardless. "Yeah, well, just be careful. No matter how many activists protest they will never stop the Hunts or the experiments. It's too profitable. There's too much to learn still from their biology and they haven't figured out how to weaponize it yet. It's best to accept that now."

She picks up speed again and we fall back into a now uncomfortable silence. My throat burns with all the things I should be saying: pleads, apologies, sympathies. At least an acknowledgement that her secret interest in a dead man will remain a secret, but time passes too quickly and I lose my nerve to bring it back up.

When we pass the gates, after a quick scan by the monitors, Alice doesn't drive to the front, like she did when I arrived a week ago, but rather off to the side, in a narrow path that connects to the back of the house.

"The kitchens," she states as she parks. "I'll help you bring your bags in but you'll have to make a few trips to get them down to your rooms from here."

"That's fine." I jump out and help her unload everything. A few curious stares come my way from the people working in the adjoining rooms but they duck away when I meet their gaze.

"Do you ever get a break? A weekend off?" I ask, watching as she takes out a large sack of flour and heaves it up onto the bench.

"Not if we want to eat I don't. You'd think I'd get paid loads for overtime but it doesn't work like that, unfortunately. Now you better get moving while I start on lunch."

"Sure."

"Oh, wait."

I turn to look at her cautiously.

"You're okay, aren't you? Do you need me to keep bringing the meals down?"

I wish she would. Anything to avoid extra time with the _Master._ "No, I'm okay now. I'll be up for the meals from now on."

"Great because I hate it down there. It's like a B-grade horror movie only real and smelly."

"Tell me about it," I mutter and pick up a few of my items.

It takes me seven trips from the kitchens to get all my bags down to the elevator, and by the time I'm hauling the last one into my room I'm sweating profusely. Wanting to surprise them in one go I pull around one of the bigger rolling tray tables that resemble a gurney from the other room and pack all my things onto it in a neat pile.

Giddy with excitement I almost run with it to the men, my fingers fumbling with the access card as I do.

"Look what I've bought," I call out in a sing-song voice when I enter.

"No way!"

"What is all that?"

The men titter from their cages and push their faces through to get a better look.

"This," I say with a flourish. "Is for you all."

I start handing out the items as they appear, feeling a bit like Santa Claus, and the reactions from the men tend to be the same; stunned and awed. Not a hint of distrust or suspicion. Every slack-jawed face builds my confidence until I'm grinning in selfish pride. I've left no-one out of a small personal gift. Derek has tears in his eyes when I hand him the professional sketchpad and pencils, and Seth laughs a breathy "this is _crazy_ " when I hand him a large book of tales.

"My bikini babes!" Mason, a blonde nineteen year old, cries when I hand the calendar over to him.

"I didn't forget you, you horn dog."

The muffins and croissants get gleefully eaten within minutes. Even the surly Jacob can't resist one when I shyly pass it through the bars to him.

"How did you get the money for all of this?" he asks. The others quiet down, holding onto their new toothbrushes and pillows as though I'm about to snatch them away.

"I was paid today."

"You bought all of this," he gestures to everything with half a sneer, "with one week's worth of pay? What's the catch? It's all rented?"

"There's no catch, I was just paid really well. Edward probably pays all the new staff well on the first week and then cuts it down."

"So these are _Edward's_ things," he spits out the name in disgust.

"No, they're my things, I damn well earned that money. What's your problem?"

"My problem is you're giving them hope they shouldn't have. Look around you, little human, where are you? A dungeon and _we're_ in cages, do you think any of this superficial shit is of any use to us?"

"You need food and blankets."

"We need sustenance, not fancy fucking muffins from a bakery."

I curse my weakness for the umpteenth time as tears once again fill my eyes.

"Damn it," Jacob curses. "Stop crying."

"What do you want me to do then? Take it all away?"

"Don't listen to him, Bella," Sam says as he fluffs up his new pillow. "Jake's just mad he can't provide for his pack while he's trapped in here; it's instinct for the Alpha to be the provider, and he's probably miffed a human female had to take over."

"Have I not provided you with what you _needed_ , Sam?" Jacob grinds out. "Are you so soft that you cannot possibly survive without a nice pillow?"

"Jacob," I whisper. "Please don't do that. He didn't mean anything by it, and I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't provide for them. That wasn't my intention."

"You don't—" He runs a frustrated hand through his uneven hair. "You don't have to apologise because I'm being a dick, but you also can't mother them like this. It will turn them soft like you."

"I'm not soft."

"You are compared to us. It's not a bad thing; your naivety is… endearing but it's maddening. Just don't buy them anymore useless crap. We can survive without it and you shouldn't be drawing attention to yourself."

My instincts all scream to do what he says, that this man knows what's best for his pack and that I should give in to his demands, but when I look around at the 'useless crap' being fawned over I can't bring myself to say yes.

"No," I state softly.

"No?"

"No, I'm going to keep buying junk if it makes them happy. It might make you happy as well if you let it. They need hope, and stimulation, and clean air, and for god's sake toothbrushes and toilet paper. None of that is useless."

I don't wait around to see his reaction, but instead go to set up the more high-end electric heater to replace the crappier one, and air purifier to start cleaning out this disgusting smell and warm up the place. Within minutes there's already a change in the air and I know I've made the right choice.

Damn what Jacob says. A golden cage is still a cage, but it's better than a rusted, cold, blood-stained one.

"Now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, who's up for a friendly game of Blackjack?" I pull out the two packs of cards I bought and wave them in the air, pointedly ignoring Jacob completely.

It does seem like a silly gesture, especially after Jacob's speech about useless crap, but at least half of the men eagerly agree and I open their doors to bring them out into the bigger, empty space.

I throw the pack to Paul, and pull around a pillow, a pair of scissors, a comb, and a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner behind him.

"What are you doing?" he asks as he begins to shuffle the decks.

"I'm going to cut and clean up this mess on your head. If that's okay."

He shrugs and sits down in front of me, tilting his head back so I've easier access. I squirt some conditioner on the ends of his lengths and start to tug the comb through. Although I try to be gentle, his head is yanked back every few seconds from a hard knot that seems to be everywhere.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." He deals the cards out face down. "Any favours for the winner? Something to spice it up?"

I tug at another knot. "Hm, how about the winner can ask the losers a question on each round, how's that?"

They all nod — Paul a bit more reluctantly — and begin their game.

Paul, who seems to have trouble knowing when to quit, loses frequently and since I'm the one working on his hair I've been unofficially clumped in as his team member, which also makes me the loser and fair game to be questioned. The questions aren't so bad, mostly revolving around my human life before I arrived. My questions back, when Paul wins, are just as mundane; about their favourite movie or colour. I purposely keep them light as to not pry.

Eventually more and more of the men ask to join until everyone but Jacob is participating.

"Blackjack!" Paul yells out, pumping his fist in the air. Some of the others grumble about it not being fair, since they can't get anymore cards due to there being so many people playing at once.

"Nice job," I say. I fill up a small cup with the water from the bucket next to me. "Now, tilt your head back so I can get this shampoo out."

He does and I pour the unfortunately cold water through his hair, running my fingers through it to make sure it's all out. When it is, I hand him a small towel to dry it off.

"Did anyone else get twenty-one?" I ask. "No? Okay Paul, you're the winner, what's your question?"

He hesitates and rubs the back of his head with the towel. The sight of the large man acting shy is almost cute. He turns to me, "Don't think I'm gettin' sappy, but do you think there's a chance there's a girl out there for us? You know, a human girl that wouldn't run, scream, or throw things at us if we showed interest?"

A few hours ago before hearing about the activists I might've honestly thought no. "I don't see why not. You're all handsome, kind men. Any girl would be lucky to call any one of you her boyfriend."

"Even you?" Embry teases. Without conscious thought my eyes wander instantly to Jacob who's staring straight back at me intensely, with just as much curiosity as the rest. There's no missing it and Paul _oohs_ playfully in response.

"Now I see why you didn't want me messing with her," he says to Jacob. "You're wanting to do that yourself."

"Shush up you. Don't provoke him," I say with a laugh and lightly slap Paul's arm, staunchly refusing to look back in Jacob's direction at all. "I'm serious though. You _are_ a great guy and I know there's someone out there for you."

It breaks my heart to think he might not be alive to find her.

The men play for hours, switching the games up, as I work on all of their hair until it's as clean and soft as duck down. One by one they get tired of cards and go back into their cage to test out their other new toys. They don't stop running their fingers through their new clump-free hair as they do.

I purposely miss lunch just to spend more time with them. In a way it feels like comradeship to only eat when they do, even if my food is much nicer.

I'm packing up the scattered cards when bare feet stop at my wrist.

"Deal me in," Jacob says huskily, and sits cross-legged in front of me.

"I didn't think you'd play with useless crap," I say somewhat bitterly but nonetheless begin to shuffle the cards. I'm tired of cards myself, but the chance to play anything with this man is too tempting.

"I'll make an exception."

"Blackjack?"

"Poker."

"I don't know how to play Poker."

He takes the cards from my hands, accidentally brushing a knuckle on his way. "I'll teach you."

The next twenty minutes are spent in frustration as I try to absorb all the new rules and tricks for the game. There's a lot to remember but after a couple practice runs we begin. I lose straight away with a ten high.

Jacob leans back and folds his arms with a small smile. "You have a terrible poker face, do you know that? Don't ever play for money at a casino. Are we still using questions for the stakes?"

"Still using questions. What do you want to know? Unless that _was_ your question in which case yes, I do know that I have a terrible poker face. I'm an open book."

"My question is: what's your deepest, darkest secret? And don't bother lying, I'll know if you are."

"That's a loaded question!" I snap briskly. "It's too invasive. Ask another one."

His nostrils flare ever so slightly, possibly taking in the small beads of sweat that's started to build, along with my uneven breathing and twitchy fingers. No matter what signals of anxiety my body is throwing out, there's nothing he can do that will make me spill about Jane.

"I don't want to lie," I continue. "But I _can't_ say. Please, just ask something else."

"All right, if it means that much to you." His hands come up in surrender. "How much do you secretly resent us for—" He motions to the area around my eye that is still a little tender to the touch and now a faint yellow.

"You had nothing to do with it and I don't resent or even dislike you one bit. Before or after this."

"At all?"

"No."

I'm not lying and he knows it. He tries to play off his shock with an easy shrug but I can see I've gotten to him. His eyes trace my face while he starts to shuffle the deck again, and when I lick my dry lips nervously two cards slip from his hand. A terse growl is thrown my way as if I purposely smacked them out.

"Look, I'm terrible at this game," I say. "Why don't we just ask each other questions as a sort of 'get to know you' experience instead? Drop the pretense. I'll do your hair like I did for the others as we talk."

"You really want to get to know me?"

"We're going to be together for a while, so yeah, I would."

"The Hunt's coming up soon and then I'll be gone. It would be a waste of time on your part."

"You could be gone tomorrow and I wouldn't think getting to know you today would be a waste."

He stretches his long legs out in front of him so one brushes my outer thigh. "Okay. Shoot."

"Before I do, do I have permission to fix—" I gesture to his hair.

When he nods, I slide around behind him to perch on my knees and drag around my hair cleaning kit. The position feels intimate in a way it didn't for the others. His back is wider than my shoulders and I have to lean up higher to tilt his head back.

I run the conditioner through the hardened ends of his hair while ignoring the prickling sensation of having such contact with him, as sad as that is, and steady my breathing. "Margo — the lady from the training room — she said you turned yourself into the authorities recently. That they didn't know you weren't human until then."

A quiet murmur goes across the room and I hear Evan faintly ask, "That true?"

Jacob's back stiffens. "And you want to know why."

"No," I say quickly as I comb the knots out. "Well yes, not now. I don't want to pry into that, but it'd mean you got a career letter as well, right? We all did after graduating. My question is what did it say? What did the government think you'd be best suited for?"

"Mechanic," he says sharply after a moment's pause. Probably trying to work out what my angle is.

I picture him in a dirty, oily garage with his monstrous frame too big to hide under the car's body. His tanned skin and overalls covered in grime and sweat.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Do you enjoy yours?"

"I'm enjoying it now."

He's silent for a moment. "I didn't hate it. Ran my own garage for a while though it wasn't legal, and you asked two questions."

"You asked one too. I'd say we're even." My smile comes out as more of a smirk and he grunts a laugh. I take the opportunity to slap his shoulder playfully — flirtatiously even, despite not knowing at all how to flirt — and to my surprise and pleasure, he doesn't pull it away.

"Tilt your head back and I'll wash this out."

* * *

When I crawl into my bed that night, under the blankets already warmed up by the heater I took back, a deep sense of accomplishment washes over me.

Despite Jacob's insistence this morning that last night meant nothing I already feel a change between us. Maybe my days in shock was so pathetic that there's now no way I could be an enemy to watch out for. Maybe my inability to lie well or my gifts has proven I'm an ally. Either way I replay all of his half-smiles and slight nods he sent during the day, along with the feel of his leg against mine and his look of disbelief when I said I didn't dislike him at all, and press my face into the pillow to smother my girlish laugh.

_My first crush?_

If only it's that simple. I roll back over, close my eyes and dream about what we might be like if he was just a normal boy and I was just a normal girl.

It's the cool air on my legs that wakes me what feels like only seconds later. Somehow my body remains relaxed and loose as if I'm still asleep, although my mind is slowly awakening.

_Did I kick off my blankets?_ I think with a light, frustrated moan.

Cold fingertips trail up the fleshy part of my thigh and when I moan again, this time out of panic and fear, they press cruelly into my leg, excited at my breathy sounds. The sound of wet lips smacking together echo out.

This isn't a dream.

My body bucks involuntarily in fright, but my eyes remain shut, not wanting to open. Not wanting to wake up to face reality and see whatever demon is touching me. The demon — who logically must be a guard or Edward and is definitely not a figment of my shock — who's been watching me at night for days.

I kick out at the figure while pretending to turn in my sleep. Just like I'm having a bad nightmare and my body's fighting it. My foot connects brutally with some part of the intruder and he grunts painfully. I pretend not to notice and settle into a tight fetal position.

He hovers over me a moment longer, putrid breath warming the side of my face before thin, damp lips attach themselves to the slope of my bare neck and he _licks._

" _Isabella,"_ the demon sighs in demented pleasure.

Edward.

Just when I'm about to scream and wake up fighting — or worse, _shift_ from the fear — he moves away from my still body and out of the door, closing it softly behind him. When I can't hear the sound of his footsteps anymore I leap out of my bed, grabbing a single pillow under my arm, and just run.

I'm gasping for breath and control when I force the main Fera door open. Only a couple of the men are still awake, some in their other form for extra warmth in their cold cage.

"Wha—"

"Can I sleep here?" I whisper, already putting down my pillow on the hard ground. "My heater broke and this one is new."

"Bella?" Jacob's voice is raspy and deep with sleep.

"I'm sorry for waking you. My heater broke. I'll just sleep here if that's okay." My voice is as quiet as I can make it but more of them are waking up.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asks, perceptive as ever.

"Nothing."

"You're lying."

"I would just really like to sleep here. That's all."

"Jake," Sam grumbles out. "You know what she's after. Shut her up so we can sleep."

"Yeah, I've got her," Jacob says and once again parts the bars to make enough room for him to walk out of his cage. He yawns and lifts me up easily with one arm around my waist. "Let's go."

"No, wait, that's not why I'm here," I insist weakly. It sounds like a lie even to my own ears. I'm not here because of _Jacob_ I'm here because of _Edward._ There's a difference, isn't there?

"I'm too tired to argue with you," he says and walks me into his cage.

He releases me to give himself enough space to shift but his arms quickly come back around me in a tight vice. His head dips into the curve of my neck and he sniffs obnoxiously loud.

"What the absolute _fuck_?"

"It's not what you think," I say quickly, terrified he's about to accuse me of sleeping with Edward. Of being a traitor. A deceiver who's infiltrating their ranks.

"What's happening?" Paul whispers.

"Not now, Paul," he says, and then quietly he growls into my ear, "We're going to talk about this in the morning. I'm going to need to know every detail about how the fuck Cullen is able to waltz into your room, molest you in your fucking sleep, and leave his stench all over your neck."

"It's not… Oh." I guess it _is_ exactly what he was thinking. He's even more perceptive than I give him credit for, and for that I'm thankful. I don't know if I'd be able to stomach having to convince him I was the victim in this while he was silently judging me.

"Yeah. _Oh._ " He takes a few steps back and I hear the snapping of bones as he once again shifts into his massive Fera form. One hand — _paw_ — curls around my waist and pulls me down hard against him. I let him arrange me like a limp doll until we're both comfortable.

"Thanks for understanding. I would've been okay to sleep on the ground but this is nice," I tell him and run my fingers over the fur on his paws. It's smooth and now unknotted thanks to my ministrations.

He snorts into my hair, whipping it up into a frenzy, and runs a rough, canine tongue over the area of my neck Edward had touched. I instinctively lurch forward and away from him but he simply growls and uses the collar of my nightgown to pull me back into him. His paw drapes over me, pinning me into position, as his tongue resumes its cleaning. It might be an intimate act if he wasn't so methodical about his actions and his tongue wasn't so rough.

He sees the problem and tries to fix it. That's all. Nothing at all erotic about it.

At least he's removing the stench of Edward that even _my_ nose can detect. For that I'll take any discomfort.

"I think you got it all, big guy."

He snorts again and nips my neck in reprimand. I contain my less-than-sane giggle and close my eyes, feeling nice and warm.

"What am I going to do?" I whisper to myself, seconds before drifting off again.

* * *

It must still be early when I wake up because no-one else is up and about. Jacob's paw is still heavy on me and I try to nudge it off with my shoulder. He flattens me a little more with it and on my second shove moves it away himself, and I hear the shift take place.

"Where're you going?" he asks groggily a moment later.

"To make breakfast."

" _Make_ breakfast? It's five in the morning."

I look around the room, still as dimly lit as ever considering the light doesn't switch off. "How can you tell?"

"It's a gift."

"If you're right then I have just over an hour to remember a baking recipe that doesn't require a stove or oven."

"You're really going to make us breakfast?"

"I'm going to _try_ to. Key word is 'try'. You have to pretend to like it even if it's bad."

"Hell, you could hand me a sack of flour and I wouldn't complain."

"I hope you're always this easy to please," I say before my brain catches in innuendo. "I'm going to go. Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when I'm back."

I speed walk out and back to my room before he can reply, smacking myself on the forehead repeatedly on my way. "Stupid. Stupid."

True to my word I come back a little over an hour later with a tray of tasteless, non-aromatic scones. There's no need to wake them as they're all up and fresh faced.

"Muffins!" Seth yells and shoves his hand out impatiently through the bars, giving me the universal ' _gimme, gimme'_ hand sign.

I hand them out to everyone with a slight apologetic wince, watching them bite into the floury concoction.

"Is it okay?" I ask nervously. "I didn't have access to an oven so it's kind of a no-bake, no-cook thing. They're tasteless as well because I forgot some of the ingredients like vanilla when I was out. I think I put in too much flour as well. I'm usually much better at cooking than this. Honestly."

"It's perfect," Seth says before choking and spluttering on his own words.

I grab one of the plastic cups I bought yesterday and fill it with water from the pitcher.

"Here," I say, handing it over. He greedily gulps it down.

"Thanks. It really is good."

Everyone else is nodding their heads but it's hard to tell whether they're lying or not.

"Really good," Paul says with an exaggerated moan. "I take back what I said about you not being able to cook with carbs. This is great."

I blush and cover my face at his words. "You're sweet. You're all liars but sweet. I'll work on getting it right next time."

When they're finished Jacob waves me over to him.

"We need to have that talk."

I sigh heavily, my good mood disappearing. "I don't want to think about it right now. Can we talk about it some other time? Or preferably never?"

"We're going to talk about it now. I need to know what's going on on the outside and why that scum is able to get to you the way he has been. Where the hell are the cops in all this?"

"If the police didn't come here after what happened to Margo they're not going to come for whatever else goes on. He mostly just watches me sleep. Yesterday was the first time he got close… I think. I don't know."

"You don't _know_? He _just_ watches you sleep? _Just?_ " His voice becomes guttural. "That sack of shit shouldn't be anywhere need your private room let alone _just_ watch you sleep while you're at your most vulnerable. You sleep in here from now on."

"I can't—"

"This isn't a negotiation."

"But I—"

"Shit," he interrupts and pushes me back. "Guards are coming. Everyone in position — don't give them any reason to beat you."

The rest scramble to hide their belongings under their metal cots and stand to attention, some already glaring at the door, others looking meek. I throw anything I can get my hands on into the locker; the cups, plates, and cards. The second I slam it closed the door bangs open and two guards saunter through, dragging a bloodied, slumped over figure behind them.

A figure that's all too familiar.

"Morning ugly beasts. Looks like you've got yourselves a new roommate," one laughs. The same pervert that said I looked good on my knees. "You ferals play nice with Eighteen-Two."

They throw him without care into one of the empty cages besides Evan, and spit at his crumpled form, high-fiving each other at their synchronicity.

"I don't think that one liked that very much," one says to the other, nodding towards Evan who's openly glaring at them.

"Looks like I might have to teach him some respect." The guard's hand hovers over the button that causes the floor to light up with electricity and I snap my arm out to grab his wrist, stopping him in his tracks.

"Don't."

He looks down at me like I'm a bug under his shoe and pointedly at his wrist. "Get your animal-loving hand off me."

I release him but quickly step in between him and Evan's cage. I'm clearly not a threat, and either of them could knock me over very easily if they wanted to, but damned if I don't try to do the right thing.

Surprisingly they just look at me, and then at each other; a wordless conversation going on between them.

"Whatever, bitch. I don't have time for this," one says and they both start to leave the way they came without a fight. I can barely make out the faint words of, "One day Cullen's little pe—" before it's gone.

I rush over into the cage with the new Fera and gently, so, so gently, turn him around onto his back and wipe the blood from his face.

"Bella?" he moans painfully, trying to open his swollen eyelids.

"Pillow," I call out and someone throws in one of the old, used pillows. I carefully lift his head to place it underneath him.

"Oh, Eric," I whisper mournfully. "I was really hoping it wasn't true."


	10. But This Surprise is Worse

I use a warm washcloth to gently remove the caked blood from Eric's face and hairline. There's no point cleaning him entirely right now, not when moving him around will cause nothing but pain.

The hard grimace of his mouth eases and his jaw unclenches just enough for him to mutter another, "Bella?"

"It's me. It's Bella," I say softly as he cracks an eye open.

"How… Why…?"

I quiet him with a finger against his trembling lips. "Hush. You'll be okay. We'll leave the questions for when you're stronger."

He nods as much as he can and lets his body relax under my touch. I keep stroking the dirty parts of his skin that I can see, those not obscured by rags meant to be clothes, in a soothing motion.

He looks terrible. He's lost a lot of body weight rapidly and his hair is crusted in old blood.

How long was he tortured for before the truth came out? A day? A week? The majority of cuts and bruises on his body aren't fresh — many already healing naturally. I pray it wasn't too long; not that being in here is a much better option.

"You know the kid?" I hear Jacob ask as he enters the cage to help lift Eric onto his new metal cot. He's gentle enough that Eric doesn't twitch.

"Not really. We went to the same school but we never spoke."

"Why not?"

"You don't think it's because I didn't want to associate with a Fera?"

"No."

The smile I throw him is blinding. "I simply didn't have many friends at school. The other students and I didn't see eye to eye on most topics. I'm pretty anti-social for the most part."

"I find that hard to believe," he says under his breath before calling out, "Sam, do you still have the medical things in there with you?"

Rustling sounds out from Sam's corner. "There's a bit here, yeah."

"Throw me anything that looks like it would help with pain and any antiseptic liquids if it's there. We'll have to deal with any open wounds he has."

Between the three of us — me, Jacob, and Sam — we manage to disinfect Eric's cuts, clean him up, and accidentally knock him out with some heavy looking painkillers. The painkillers took a bit of work getting down his throat but Jacob coaxed the pills down with water while massaging his throat, forcing Eric to swallow it all whole.

"What now?" Jacob asks when I cover Eric's sleeping body with a new, warmer blanket.

"You're asking me?" I say with a curious glance. "I thought you'd know what to do. What's meant to happen when someone new arrives?"

"Nothing. They sit here and rot with the rest of us."

I send him a stern warning through expression alone. "None of you will be rotting on my watch. Should we… should _I_ try to get him to the medical center? Call somebody in to check him over?"

"No point," he says and cranes his neck to the side, releasing a muted crack. "No-one's ever around. The only doctor that comes around for us is X, and she's not the kind of doctor that wants to relieve our pain, if you get my drift."

"What happens if it's life threatening?"

Jacob gives me a pointed look, as if I should know the answer by now.

"Right," I nod. "You die."

"We die," he agrees and smoothes a hand over Eric's head. He takes the nearby cloth and dabs it over his forehead to clean up the excess sweat.

"Edward did say that if it's bad enough I could ask him to bring someone in. A doctor from the outside."

Jacob's hand pauses. "I wouldn't trust anyone he brings in. They'd probably put us down for a simple cold rather than give us medicine. We'll deal with our problems on our own. Now, go grab your things. I'll make room for you in here somewhere, and set up one of the old cots for you to sleep in."

"You can't be serious," I say, my mouth agape. "I thought you were joking before! I'm not really going to sleep in here."

"What, you're too good for our cages?"

"A worm is too good for these cages." I pause. "Uh, no offence meant Nicholas."

Nicholas just laughs. "None taken."

I narrow my eyes at Jacob. "And what would happen if I sleep here and Edward comes creeping into my room at night to discover me gone? Maybe he'll come here. How would I explain why I'm sleeping in your cage with you?"

His smile turns predatory and a gleam of _something_ shines in his eyes. "Now, I never said anything about you sleeping with _me_. That thought's all on you."

I can feel my entire body reddening with mortification as I stiffen. "I didn't… I didn't mean that literally. I meant it figuratively."

"Sure." He loses the smile and touches the side of my neck lightly, trailing his finger down the slope of it before rubbing them together.

"What are you doing?" I say, jerking back from him before I do or say something even more mortifying.

"What are those white spots on your neck?"

I clasp a palm over them instinctually. My fawn spots. "A birth mark."

"It doesn't look like a birthmark."

"Actually it's vitiligo. I've lost my pigmentation there but no-one really notices because I'm pale enough as it is."

I rake my fingers through my hair and arrange it to cover my neck. "I need to start cleaning."

"I think this room is as clean as it's going to get."

"Then I need to check on Sam's injuries."

"Uh," Sam mutters. "I'm fit as a fiddle. Have been for a while now."

"What's got you so nervous, little maid?" Jacob asks, pushing my hair away. "These spots? Or the fact that you're going to be sleeping in here from now on?"

"I'm not going to be sleeping here."

"You are."

"Jacob, I'm _not_."

* * *

I am.

Many hours later I'm pulling the blanket tighter around my shivering body. I glare in Jacob's general direction as I shift onto my side in front of the heater. He had pulled one of the spare cots out earlier in the day and set it up in the open area near the door, throwing the new pillows and blankets I had bought on top.

"I don't like the thought of you in a cage," is all he said when I asked why I was going to be in the open space instead of one of the spare cells.

I don't admit it out loud, lest it boosts his ego, but I'm somewhat thankful for Jacob's insistence that I sleep here. The thought of being unconscious and vulnerable while Edward is around is frightening. Just remembering how he _licked_ my neck when he thought I was asleep sends shivers of revulsion through me.

Not that I think he would have been around tonight. He wasn't in the dining hall during lunch or dinner, and I didn't see him anywhere on the ground floor when I went to shower. If fate is kind, maybe Edward's been caught for murdering the blonde trainer and the government's sending out a replacement to take over his sick job.

"I can see you glaring at me," Jacob says, distracting me out of the thoughts of Edward.

"I'm not glaring at you, I'm glaring at the wall behind you."

"Then stop and go to sleep."

I huff a sigh and stop glaring in his direction, instead looking out to where Eric is still sleeping fitfully. For over twelve hours, since we knocked him out with painkillers, he's been sleeping and hasn't woken once.

"Do you think we gave him too much?" I whisper.

"He'll be fine. I can see his eyelids moving. He's just asleep."

I can see them moving, too, but it makes me think he's having a seizure. All he needs is the froth at the mouth to complete the image. Throwing off my blanket I tiptoe into Eric's cage and kneel down next to him, pressing my fingers against his neck.

"His pulse is really fast."

"Bella…"

"Jake, I think you need to check it. It's really fast. What if there's something really wrong? He might die in his sleep."

Eric's heartbeat picks up and he begins to sweat, turning his head away from my touch.

"I'll do it. Let me out," Sam yawns, stretching out his fatigue. "We don't want Jacob to have to bend his bars anymore than necessary."

"Right." I hurry to open Sam's door and he shuffles past me, taking up my previous position next to Eric. He presses two thick fingers to his neck.

"Hm," he mumbles. "You're right, it is a bit faster than expected."

Before I can ask him what I should do Sam leans over Eric and lightly slaps his face. "Hey kid, wake up. You've had enough sleep."

"Don't hit him," I hiss and pull his hand back. "He's probably in a lot of pain still."

"I'm not hurting him. He's too doped up on painkillers." Another slap. "And needs to get up so you stop worrying."

Groggily his eyelids start to flutter open and his heart rate begins to drop to a normal pace.

"He's waking up," I say, and block Sam from delivering another slap. "Eric, can you hear me?"

"Bella? _Bella_!" he cries and grabs my wrist, quickly coming out of the drug-induced sleep. "Bella."

"Someone check him for head damage," Jacob says from across the room. "He doesn't seem to be able to say anything else."

Is that _bitterness_ I detect?

"You're here?" Eric continues. "How?"

I pat the hand he's holding me by. "My career letter assigned me here. I'm just the cleaner but I promise I'll take care of you."

"Don't let them take me back there," he says and begins to cry. I drop down next to his bed and pull him into a hug. "I don't want to go back. I can't go back there."

"You won't go back," I promise. Tears edge their way out. "You'll stay here with us. You don't have to leave."

"They put me in darkness and told me to shift, and I did. I did it the second they asked and they still… they still hurt me. They attached hooks to my temples and injected me with things. I did everything they asked. Why did they keep hurting me?"

He rests his head on my shoulder and weeps, which in turn makes me start to cry harder.

"You have a family here," I whisper. "We'll take care of you now. You won't go back."

Sobs continue to wrack his body as he tugs on my hand lightly and makes room on his cot. "I'm so tired but I don't want to sleep alone here in the dark. Can you…?"

Without a word I lie down next to him and don't push his arm away when it curls over my torso. Jacob grumbles something under his breath but when I shoot a quick, "What?" at him he falls silent.

Eric falls back asleep almost instantly, probably still doozy from the drugs and now the crying session. I'm too awake to even try.

"You shouldn't sleep with him like that," Jacob whispers in the darkness.

"There's nothing wrong with it," I whisper back defensively. "I'm comforting the poor guy. He's clearly been through a lot."

"I'm not talking about being with him for comfort. New prisoners are likely to be explosive and lash out. What if he has a nightmare and thinks you're an enemy? What if he's a blue whale and he accidentally shifts, crushing you before you can escape? It's not safe."

"How would you know what new prisoners are like? You've barely been here a few months. What I do know is that he needs someone to cry on, who isn't afraid to comfort him when he needs it."

"We can do that, and we'd do it without the extra risk. Your human body is too fragile if anything went wrong."

"I'm not leaving him," I whisper.

"Bella," he says, exasperated. "The kid is not in good shape."

"He'll get better. I know he will."

* * *

Eric hasn't settled at all when Monday morning comes around. If anything, the slight shock at being here in the Cullen manor has ebbed and his panic attacks and fears are only getting worse.

"Bella!" he cries when I come back from my shower that morning. "Where'd you go?"

"I had to get changed, shower, and get your breakfast," I say and haul the food sack over to Jacob, who takes it easily with one hand. Then I hand out the few no-bake muffins I was able to make, and thankfully make taste better by heaping in far too much sugar. "So, I've almost run out of muffin ingredients but Alice — the human chef here — goes out a few times a week. I'll ask her if I can go along again the next time she does to pick up more. This will be the last batch for a little while. Well, at least the last batch that tastes edible."

"You're going out? Let me come with you."

"Eric, I can't, it doesn't work like that. I can't just bring you with me outside for a joyride."

"Yes you can. You can hide me in the back of the van or car that she uses and I'll jump out when she's driving.

I sigh. "That's a terrible idea. If we were going to work out an escape plan, and I'm not saying we are, then it has to be more foolproof than that. There's so much that can go wrong with that plan that I'm not even going to consider it."

His thin arm reaches through the bars towards me, simply waving around with no purpose. Swallowing a sympathetic moan I unlock his cell with my access card in one hand and tug open the door with the other. He jumps out at the first opportunity and comes straight for me.

"Watch it, kid," Jacob bites out when Eric grabs my upper arm a little roughly.

"Sorry," he mumbles but doesn't let go. Instead, he pulls me to the main enclosure door and looks at it pointedly.

"Eric… You don't really expect me to open that up and let you walk right out, do you?" I ask with raised brows.

It seems that's exactly what he expects me to do as he lashes out and makes a grab for the card I keep in my pocket. I push back at him with an open palm, not rough, just firm. "Don't."

"This is your second warning," Jacob says, his voice gradually growing louder. "Let's not get off to a bad start. We're stuck with each other for a while."

Warnings? Right. I don't believe for a second he'd act out against one of his own. Especially not a scared and desperate newcomer who hasn't reached adulthood yet. I run my hand down Eric's arm in a show of comfort.

"Look," I start. "You want to get out of here and I get that. Of course I do. Who wouldn't? I don't think this is the way you should be doing it but if you're willing to take that risk then I'll do my best to help. We can sit down and try to think of something together. Something that doesn't involve walking straight out that door into armed guards who are probably out there right now waiting to take these guys to their fighting practice. Okay?"

"You'll really help?" he asks, his eyes widening with hopeful joy. Puppy dog eyes if I ever saw them.

I nod and direct him back onto his cot. "I'm not saying we'll do anything but we can talk about it."

"Anything for me to do?" Evan asks one cell over. "I can help work something out. You won't even know I'm there. I want to be part of this action, too."

"No-one will be doing anything," Jacob says darkly. "Do you get me? It's not happening. You miraculously make it out and within the hour they'll have bulletins playing over the country with your face plastered on it. You'll never be able to set foot in a town again." He sends Sam and the other older males a pointed look. "Just be smart. I promise it won't always be like this."

"Yes it will," Eric whines. "I'll take the risk of bulletins and infamy."

"Risks… Maybe that's what we should be writing down," I think aloud, wondering if I should go get my notepad. "Possible risks and consequences, and what actions would have to be taken to avoid each of them. Like, if there are news bulletins we might have to leave the state. Depending on where they're played maybe even the country. We could travel on lesser known roads, because the highways would be off-limits. I don't think they'd try looking for—"

"Bella!" Jacob snaps. "What are you doing? Have you only been pretending to have common sense this whole time?" I glare hard. "You can't make a contingency plan for this. Nor should you be. Leave my pack's protection and wellbeing to _me_."

"Leave it to you?" I almost laugh. "What will you do for them when you're taken to the Hunt? When you die or become a soldier? What then, Jacob? The older men you might be able to protect because they'll be with you but not the younger ones. And we're not about to run off now. We're just thinking about it."

"You need to _back off,_ human."

My hands rest of my hips as I square off with him. I don't know where the sudden show of defiance came from but I'm feeling it. He wouldn't do anything to me. He wouldn't dare. "Yeah? Or what?"

His hands grip hard on his bars and I watch as the tendons in his forearms bulge under the pressure. Swallowing a hard gulp I turn back to Eric, all my pseudo-courage gone.

"On the other hand maybe he's right. He probably knows more about what goes on than me."

Eric tugs me down onto his mattress and tries to whisper, "I don't trust him, but I trust you. You have to try. You owe me this."

_Do I?_

Perhaps out of a sense of guilt I might owe him something; an apology of sorts for being free but I didn't lock him in here. The best I can do is keep him out of trouble and out of the spotlight.

"I'll think about it. See what we have to work with. We have to be smart about this. No loose ends. I did talk to the chef a few days ago about it and she says it's not possible. She said others have died trying and that it's not possible to make it out."

"They have," Jacob interrupts. "That's why you've never, _ever_ heard of a successful escape."

"There's a first time for everything," Eric snaps, not whispering anymore. "And we're having a private conversation here."

"Don't get testy with me, pup. It's not private when I'm a few feet away from you and I can hear a pin drop," he growls. "Bella's impressionable and I don't want you whispering in her ear about stupid shit you two shouldn't be talking about."

"He doesn't want us to be free," Eric whispers to me. "I think he's a traitor. I think he likes us being here. He wants us to suffer."

"Don't say that. Jacob is very protective over everyone, you as well, and his concerns are valid. Like I told Evan before, this place is a fortress. There are cameras everywhere, weighted elevators, the place is surrounded by endless dark forest, and now I'm told there's even guard towers to keep an eye on people coming and going. It wouldn't surprise me if I heard they've put a tracking GPS on you somehow as well — your clothes or a chip under your skin, perhaps."

"Okay, we know what the problems are and now you can figure out a way around it."

"Me?"

"Both of us," Eric says and then points to Evan, "and that guy, too."

"For now, I think it'll be better if you resign yourself to being here." I hold up a hand before he can interrupt. " _But_ I'll get my notepad and write down our concerns anyway. I don't think we can figure out a way around them, especially about how to get you from this level to the ground floor undetected, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to brainstorm if you really need it."

"Bella," Jacob starts again.

"I know. It's bad to give them false hope and it's probably not going to work, but there's no harm in just thinking about things, is there?"

He sighs hard and Eric sends the first smile I've seen from him my way.

* * *

"What about the weighted elevator? How do we get passed that?" I ask, writing down the question in my notepad.

We've been at it for over an hour and haven't come up with one good solution for any problem. My notepad is overflowing with terrible and crazy ideas that had to be crossed out.

Eric and Evan look at each other. "Maybe we could shut the power down?"

"Then the elevator wouldn't work."

"You could ask your boss about it and get him to show you the controls for it?"

"He'd never fall for that. And if he did he'd watch me so carefully I wouldn't be able to touch a thing," I say, tapping my pen in thought. "And the elevator is the only way up or down from this floor."

"Maybe you could hide us in one of those metal trolleys and pretend we're cargo you're taking up."

"Not a bad idea but there's nothing on this level that would need to be brought up that needs a trolley." I write down 'hide them as cargo?' as a side note regardless, because it's been the only good idea they've had so far.

"What about the cameras?" I ask, writing down the next risk factor.

"Those are easy," Eric says. "Just spray them all with black paint or something."

Jacob laughs humorlessly. "Sure, like that's not suspicious or anything. It's all in the normal routine for a maid to cover up high-grade surveillance cameras."

"He's right," I say, quickly crossing out the 'spray them' note. "We have to be smarter than that."

"Damn it," Jacob snaps suddenly. "Bella, hide all that shit somewhere. Guards are coming. You two get back in your cages and don't speak. Eric, try not to make eye contact with them, they've no balls and like to throw their weight around to make up for it."

I sprint over to the fire-hose locker and throw the notebook into the back of it without looking. The moment I snap it shut two guards are walking in with dog collars once again in hand.

"Eighteen-One," one guard says and throws a collar to Evan. He throws another into Jacob's cell. "And Twenty-one-Nine. Come on, boys. The good doctor awaits."

"Wait a minute," I say, moving to intercept them. "Where are you taking them? I thought it was the older ones who trained today."

The guard looks at me like I'm an idiot giving me body the once-over. "Usually, yeah, but training's been cancelled for a while because blondie is still having a cry over his dead sister and can't fight."

"If it's cancelled then why are you taking these two men?"

"Is she always so annoying?" the second guard says to the first before turning to me and knocking a finger against my head. "Didn't you hear me say _good doctor_ , girl?The Doc needs to runs tests on the new beasts, and these two are both new. Understand? Therefore they're both coming with us so shut that pretty, little mouth of yours and get back to cleaning."

"If they're going then I'm coming with you."

"Boss ain't said anything about you coming with us today so no, you're not." Guard One aims his gun at Jacob as he unlocks the cage door. "Get out."

Jacob steps out and locks eyes with me. "Stay here," he mouths before the guard hits the butt of his rifle into the side of his head.

"No communicating with the cleaning lady, Nine."

"Don't hurt him!"

The guard aims the gun at me and I falter. "Goddamn it, you'll be next if you keep annoying me. I swear on your life you will be."

They forcefully nudge Jacob and Evan to the door, and when I go to follow them Jacob presses a hand against my stomach and shoves me back. I can only watch as they leave to somewhere unknown without me.

"It'd be difficult for him to protect Evan as well as you at the same time," Sam says when the main door locks back into place. "Don't take it personally."

"I don't, but I'm worried for them. What's the doctor like? Are they going to be hurt? Maybe I should follow them before they get too far away."

"If you want to piss Jake off you can do that. They'll be fine, Bella. X is a bitch, but she's a clinical one. She doesn't hurt us out of hatred — but for her science. All she cares about is results, which makes her predictable and easier to handle. Jake knows what he's doing with her."

"Do you think she could be someone on our side then?" Eric says and gestures for me to come over. "A new ally? We should write that down too. Go get your book back so we can keep writing our plans out."

"Not now, Eric."

"Why not now? It's the perfect time. Guards aren't here and neither is that Jacob guy to keep shutting down our ideas. All he does is glare at me or tell you you're an idiot for helping."

"Stop hassling her," Sam says. "If she doesn't want to do it right now she doesn't have to."

"Thanks, Sam."

To pass the time and keep my anxiety in check, I clean up anywhere that looks like it has a smudge on it. The scrubbing steadies my nerves and shaking hands but the room is so clean already it barely takes five minutes to do.

"Everyone okay?" I call out when I finish cleaning. "Anyone need anything?"

"We're fine," Paul answers. "You need to calm down. You're making me nervous."

"I can't calm down, I should've gone with them regardless of what Jacob wanted. I could have helped or evened out the playing field. Now I know it's at least three against two."

"They're going to be fine, Bella. We're going to be fine. You'll give yourself a heart attack before the year is up if you keep going at this speed."

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. "I know, I just need something to keep me preoccupied."

"You can come draw with me, if you like," the shy Derek says, holding up some of the paper and pencils I bought for him.

He lays out several pieces along the floor of his cage and spreads out the coloured pencils and crayons alongside them.

"I'm not much of an artist. Have you drawn anything?" I ask, walking over.

He holds out a torn sheet to me with a blush and I take it from him. There's a crayon drawing of an elephant, or a warthog, or some strange creature with tusks. It resembles the kind of sketch a child might have done.

"Oh, this is… a beautiful drawing. I love the colours you've put in."

"Thanks," he says with a smile as I hand it back. "Could you see it's a walrus? No-one else could."

"Of course I can," I lie and some of the other men laugh. "And don't listen to the others. Art is expressive and can be interpreted many different ways. Sometimes the most famous paintings are the ones that seem different at first."

"It's supposed to be realistic."

_Oh. Oops._

"Bella!" Embry calls out. "Paul, Sam, and I want to play cards again. You should come play as the House because no-one else wants to."

As far as distractions go it's not a great one, but I'll take anything to get my mind off of Jacob and Evan.

"Deal me in. What's the stakes this time?"

* * *

A few hours later — that really does feel like an eternity — the guards come back, half dragging a limp and bloody Jacob with them while Evan trails miserably, but in perfect health, behind them.

"What did you _do_ to him?" I hiss.

"Nothing," they grumble together and throw Jacob back into his cage, where he rolls once before laying face down. "It wasn't us for once. Doc did it."

"Get out." I narrow my eyes and them, seething in hatred.

The bearded guard gives me a look of contempt. "Haven't I told you before that I don't take orders from you, girl? In fact, just knowing you want me to leave makes me so much more inclined to stay. Kick my feet back and relax a little."

The other guard nudges him. "Maybe you do but I hate these animals. I feel like I'm at a zoo where all the animal does is stare at you. Besides, we've got a perimeter to patrol."

"Hm, I guess I do need to take a piss as well." He clicks his fingers and looks around. "Though this place is so disgusting it wouldn't make a difference if I did it here."

He looks at me with a sly smirk and with purposeful fingers unzips his fly. "You don't mind, do you darling?"

I turn away instantly, the only show of my distaste is a wrinkle in my nose when I hear the spray hit the wall and smell the bitter, acidic tang of urine. He must be dehydrated if it's strong enough for my human nose to detect.

"Even toddlers know how to use a toilet," I say in disgust when I hear him zip back up.

"Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go," he laughs. "Enjoy cleaning that up. I'll see you tomorrow, babe."

Thankfully they leave right after and I'm able to quickly throw the cleaning agent and water over the urine before the smell gets too much or becomes permanently ingrained in the steel. I clean it thoroughly using the only mop I have and sigh.

"Great, now I need to get a new mop."

"Bella…" Eric starts. There's a new level of whine in his voice that starts to grate on my nerves. "They'll be coming for me next time. I'm a new guy and they said take new guys to see that doctor. And look what she was about to do to _him_. We need to keep brainstorming."

"Not now, Eric," I say, trying not to grit my teeth in frustration. I lift some of the medical supplies into my arms and slowly make my way to Jacob. "There are more important things to worry about right now, in case you've forgotten."

Damn it, I can't reach Jacob through the bars and I can't get his door open with just my access card.

"Jake," I whisper.

"Yeah?" he mumbles. He turns himself over onto his back.

"How bad are you hurt? Do you think you can crawl over to where I am so I can help you?"

"I can, but it's not necessary. I'm fine. Just a bit of blood loss that'll fix itself up in a few minutes. An hour max."

"If you're fine then it shouldn't be a problem to come here." He doesn't move. I push harder. "There's no shame if you can't do it. I won't think you're weak."

I knew that'd get him going. He growls out a curse and gets to his knees, and then straightens up. When he makes it to the bars he collapses back down but my arm shoots out and steadies him.

"I've got you. Now just sit back in a comfortable position." When he does I slide two painkillers into his hand. "Swallow those. They'll help with the pain."

Pouring some antiseptic liquid onto a small cloth I continue, "This is going to sting a bit on your open cuts but it'll help you not get sick."

He laughs low. "I know what they do, I helped bandage Eric, remember? You don't have to treat me like I'm an invalid just because I've been knocked around a bit."

I flush and begin dabbing at his wounds. "Sorry."

"Don't be."

When the wounds are cleaned I begin washing off the blood around his face and in his hair. Only the smallest amount of shampoo is used to take out some of the harder clumps, because if there are any cuts on his scalp it will sting like hell.

"This is nice," Jacob says and leans back against the bars so I've easier access to his face. I wipe the blood off his neck, avoiding the hard lump of his Adam's apple. "You make a good nurse. When my Hunt's over, I might have to come back and kidnap you one day. You can be my personal maid."

"I don't think it's called kidnapping if I want to be taken," I laugh.

"We'll still call it kidnapping though because then I don't have to pay you. I'm very poor, you see. Haven't been able to work for a few months."

I laugh again and pat his head. "There. You're all cleaned up. Just lie down for a bit and don't go getting into any more trouble, and you'll be fine."

"He didn't get into trouble," Evan says, his voice full of sorrow. "It was my fault. The lady was supposed to be doing the experiments on me but I freaked out and he took the attention from me to him. Things got messy. I'm really sorry, Jacob."

"Don't be sorry, kid," Jacob says, his voice stronger than his body. "Look at me. I can handle a bit of pain. At this point it's part of my daily exercise regime and keeps me fit. And I'd much rather it be me than you getting experimented on."

"Really?" Evan sniffles.

"Really."

"He might be able to handle it," Eric says, "but I won't. What were we up to in our list? The cameras? How about a big electrical storm that takes them out? Or you can seduce a guard to get into the control room?"

"Eric…"

"Bella, we need—"

"Eric, stop!" I yell, a bit more forcefully than intended. "I'm sorry Eric but this has to stop. You have to stop. We have thought about every possibility. _I_ have thought about every possibility before you came here. It's not going to happen. We have _nothing_ solid to work with. Not a single good idea on how to get around even one of the obstacles let alone all of them." I rub my temple. "Jacob's right. Escaping isn't what we should be thinking about right now."

"Yes it is!"

"If you somehow escape that doesn't solve anything for the rest of them! The humans just figure out how it happened and make security even tighter. Generations and generations of Feras will still be imprisoned."

"So _what_? It won't be me."

"We need to get to the root of the problem."

"Should we kill the owner then?"

"No," I shake my head. "Edward's just a figurehead. There were many before him and many will come after him. I don't know how we can solve it… but maybe we won't have to. There are activists picketing the Hunt every year I hear. If I can get word out to some of them… if I can show them what's happening… They might be able to do something. Get a law passed in the future or rile up the public—"

"I don't care, I'll be dead before anything changes. You told me you'd help me escape!"

"I said we'd brainstorm. That we'll try to _think_ about all our options, and Eric, I have thought about it. We can't do it. I'm sorry but I'm done with it for now. I'm putting the brakes on the escape plan."

Evan sobs once, quietly, and Eric rushes to his bars to slam his fists against them.

"You lied to me!" he yells. "You're a liar! You're a bitch, Bella! You told me you'd help!"

"Watch your fucking mouth," Jacob snaps. "She has the right idea. We are all a part of this. We do not put our individual selves before the group. We will all be free or none of us will be. _That_ is what we will figure out."

"I don't care about the group. I don't care if you _die_ so I can be free."

"You don't want to start making enemies in here," Jacob grates out and Eric screams once more in frustration and fury before falling silent.

"I'll remember this," Eric whispers. "I'll remember that you didn't want to help me when you have everything in your power to do so."

"I do want to help you," I whisper back. "We all want what's best for each other. But I know if we try to escape — if _you_ try to escape — you'll only end up dead. You have more of a chance surviving the Hunt than an escape from here."

Eric just lies down on his cot and turns away from me.

Tears fall from my eyes before I can stop them and I face the others. "I'm going to do the laundry," I mutter, my voice tight. "Anyone who wants anything washed hand them over."

They pass me everything that needs to be cleaned and I've just finished bundling them all up in my arms when Edward strolls through the door unannounced, without a guard at his side for protection. He sneers at the sheets in my hands, that I almost drop in surprise at his entrance, and then at the clean walls.

"Uh, M-Master, what are—" I catch myself before I question his motives. Instead, I just incline my head in a low bow.

"Hello, Isabella. I've come to see what you've been doing during your days."

I shuffle from one foot to the other.

"I'm glad to see you've been working. That I haven't wasted my money on you. It is nice in here," he continues bitterly, looking around. "Warm and lacking the putrid stench of unwashed animals."

"Yes, Master. I try to work to the best of my abilities."

"I can see that."

He casually walks from one side to the other, studying the men in their cages. My palms sweat. I haven't locked most of their cage doors and if Edward tries to tug any of them open, or if he inspects any of their rooms and finds cards or drawings...

His fingers trail the bars and walls, and he rubs them every few seconds as if to check for dust.

"Very clean. Good enough to sleep in."

My mouth clamps shut into a thin line. I don't dare spare a glance in Jacob's direction or at the spare cot I slept in last night, that I placed up against the locker when I woke up.

"And how is our newest exhibit faring? Eighteen-two."

I will myself not to glance at Eric. "He's fine—"

" _Please!_ You're the owner here aren't you?" Eric cries out, cutting me off. His arm reaches through the bars for Edward's shoulder. "I'll do anything if you get me out of here. Please, I don't deserve to be in here. I haven't done anything wrong. I'm not like these other ferals in here. I can be useful."

Edward grabs one of Eric's outreached fingers and snaps it back briskly, breaking the bone and sending him back howling on the ground.

"Haven't done anything wrong? You were _wrong_ the moment you were born, and unfortunately for you the only thing I want from that worthless body — the only thing you're useful for — is your DNA."

"No!" Eric cries again, clutching his broken hand and sobbing on the ground. "We can help each other. I know things, important things that you'd be interested in."

 _What the Hell?_ My stomach drops as I gasp in disbelief.

The males look at each other in barely disguised shock while Edward cocks an eyebrow and smirks down at Eric with all the arrogance of a fat king. "Oh? And what would vermin know that would interest me?"

"I'll tell you everything but first you have to promise to get me out of here."

"Eric—" I whisper, panicked.

"Hush," Edward says and holds a finger out to my lips. It takes all my willpower not to flinch. "Let's hear what he has to say."

"You have to promise," Eric repeats.

"Very well. I, Edward Cullen, give my word that I will get you out of your cage on the condition that you tell me something that holds my interest."

Eric spares me one, half-second glance before he blurts out, "She's a sympathiser!"

A deathly silence falls over the room and Edward's finger on my mouth curls hard into my upper lip but I barely feel it. My numb fingers drop the sheets.

 _He's lying,_ I try to get my mouth to say but my brain just isn't working.

"Say that again," Edward whispers hard and low, full of venom.

"She's a Fera sympathiser. I can prove it, she gave me this new pillow and blanket, and she's been baking food for us. If you check over there in the locker you'll see more things she's hidden along with a notepad that has escape plans she was writing down. I told her I didn't want to be a part of them but she kept writing them out anyway saying I'd thank her for it one day."

Edward steps away and without looking back he strides over to the locker and throws it open. All the cleaning supplies, the shampoo and towels, pitcher and cups, and notebook fall out to land at his feet. When he bends to pick it up I moan low, and drop to my knees, holding my stomach as sudden physical pain shoots through me.

_Oh, god._

I touch my head to the cold floor and swallow back the bile making its way up when I hear him flip slowly through the pages, and then rapidly. With a roar of pure anger he throws it to the other side of the room, where it clatters to the ground.

_I'm dead. He's going to kill me._

When the bright light fills my vision I think for a wild second that I've been killed already and was seeing heaven, but then the world comes crashing back and I hear Eric screaming in pain along with the sounds of electrical zaps.

I peek up from the ground to watch as Edward slams his fist once, twice, and then three times on the buzzer at Eric's door — the one that controls the electric floor.

"I…" Eric tries to speak through the shocks, "I helped you. You… you promised…"

"I promised I'd get you out!" Edward screams. "And I'll get you out, you fucking disgusting animal! I'll get you out in a body bag or in pieces!"

He slams the button once more and turns to me, his face red and his eyes wild. He reaches down and grips my upper arm hard, pulling it up with all his strength until my feet scrape the floor. "Get up! Get up, you useless bitch. This is how you repay me?!"

My arm burns with the pain but somehow with my numb, nerveless legs I'm able to stand. My stomach rolls and I can't catch my breath. My vision blackens for a moment.

Edward grabs my hand and yanks me forward enough that I hit Eric's cage hard. He presses the side of my face up against the bars until I cry out from pain and keeps me there with one hand while his other forces my palm open, and he guides it onto Eric's door buzzer. Using my hand he lights up the cage with electricity again.

"No," I whisper, feeling faint.

" _No_?!" He yells, and uses my hand to press the buzzer again and again. "I'll have you kill _every single fucking one_ of these animals in here. I'll cut them open and make you _wear_ them for your uniform! I'll make you eat them every day for the rest of your life. You dare tell _me no_?!"

I can't control it. Sharp pain bursts from behind my eyelids. My heart is racing uncontrollably and I can't breathe. I can't feel my legs. Eric's screams become dulled and I… I can't…

The sounds of metal begin to groan and I know it's Jacob about to come out. He's weakened and going to get killed. Eric's going to be killed. We're all going to be killed. Everything's going so wrong. And I can't… stop it…

I can feel it.

I can feel it happening and I know I can't control it. That only serves to make it happen faster. I've never been so terrified in my life. My vision sharpens with the change and my hearing increases.

"No," I try to moan again but I've lost my human vocal chords and instead only softly bleat.

"What the holy fuck," Edward says, his voice echoing all around, and lets go of me.

I fall heavily to the ground and try to get up but my legs are shrinking. _No._ It can't happen like this. Not like this, _please_ , not like this.

I need to leave.

I try to run but I can't move.

I need to get out of here before Jane—

* * *

She's left me with predators. I'm in a tiny space with so many predators. They're so much larger than me and so close.

Crying out my panic I kick out at the one trying to grab me as it yells things I don't understand. I make contact with its flesh and it stumbles back. Racing forward I run as fast as I can on four legs until I slam into a barrier, the likes of which I've never seen.

 _Second skin,_ I bleat to my other form, _I need you. I'm surrounded. I don't know how to leave this trap._

I turn and race the other way, only to slam again into another barrier. The predator I kicked before lunges for me again and I dodge its attack, kicking him again on my way. He's down but I can't escape.

"Get in here!" he yells in a language I don't understand.

I try another direction and when I hit the barrier I kick out at it. It sends pains through my hind legs in response.

A hole in the wall in front of me opens up and more and more predators run through. They're like nothing I've seen before, just black, tall, two-legged things without a face or eyes, and I cry out in fear again.

"Don't kill her!" the angry, slim, pale one yells. "Don't hurt it! For fuck's sake if I see blood I'll remove your eyes and shove them down your gullet! Use the tranquilizers!"

The predators don't move closer to me but still manage to wound me somehow. Sharp pain bites into my back leg and my movement starts to slow until I can't feel or move my body. There's something shiny poking out from where it hurts, that has the same strange shininess of the immovable barriers.

I'm surrounded by enemies and yet my eyes begin to close involuntarily and I keel over on my side to sleep.

* * *

More slowly than usual I wake from my rest. How could I have slept with so many threats of danger around me? Human magic?

They've got me locked in one of their strange traps. It's too tiny, there's no leaves or trees in sight, and my body feels chill despite all my fur. Everything hurts. I lick at the pain on my leg.

My ears twitch towards the sound of predators fighting so close to me.

"You fucking piece of shit!" A wet crunch, a bone snapping. "Give me _one_ good fucking reason I shouldn't break your traitor neck rather than put you in a fucking coma? _One!_ "

I don't know what they're saying, their communication is different to mine, but I know the sound of pain. I know what the sound of limbs breaking is. Of snouts crunching. I know the coppery scent that's permeating the air heavily is one of the male predator's life liquid.

When the scent of blood is at its highest the sounds of pain from the beaten male tamper down into silence. He's probably dead. Beaten by the dominant male of the group. I try to curl up into myself, as though I were a fawn again, hiding in the tall grass.

_Please don't notice me._

I hear one of them stomp around and then the sound of running water appears. One ear twitches in that direction and I sneak a peek from my hiding spot in this trap looking for the water. Water means earth, and earth means grass and tall trees and open areas. But no, it looks like I'm in a smaller trap of a bigger trap. Water running must be another trick these predators can use to bring their prey out of hiding.

I won't fall for it. My second skin knows those traps too and she's too smart to be tricked.

The sound of water stops to be replaced by the human walking sounds coming closer and closer to where I'm hiding. The biggest, scariest looking predator of the lot stands outside my enclosure, looking at me in a way I've never seen a predator look before. Non-threatening? Is it possible?

Somehow within a second the big predator has gone from being outside my trap to being inside it, right in front of me, close enough to touch. I bleat out terrified and try to stand to kick but collapse back, my four legs all going in opposite directions. I'm more hurt than I realise and now I'm completely vulnerable.

The predator lifts his human hands slowly and crouches down until we're at eye level. Then he gets lower. I bleat out again louder, repeatedly in warning, as he moves closer and closer, his hands up but reaching out towards me. When his human hand touches my nearest leg I try once again to stand.

"You don't understand me, do you little one?"

I collapse back down, unable to stand yet.

"Shh," the human bleats softly in its own language. The language of my second skin.

I bleat in response and pull my hurting body away as much as I can.

"Shh," he repeats. "It's okay. Don't be afraid." He reaches out again and strokes the fur down on my leg. I'm too tired, too hurt to pull away again. I try one last mournful bleat that he clearly doesn't understand.

"I know. I know," he speaks and moves closer until he presses up close. The heat from his hand warms my stomach as he runs it through the fur on my sides. "You don't have to be afraid of me. We're not the bad guys."

I don't know what he's saying but his touch is soothing and I drop my head back to the cold ground, breathing out ragged puffs of air in a white cloud. I try to bite at the clouds that come from my mouth but they disappear too fast.

The predator's hand shakes on my chest as he lets out a strange sound. "Your breath isn't edible, as far as I know. God, you're a pretty thing. Look at these markings."

When he touches the spot of pain I cry out again. He abruptly pulls away for a second before starting back up, careful about where his fingers run.

"I thought you were a spy at first. You were so perfect, so willing to help us with whatever we needed, standing up to guards, and sneaking food, that I didn't see it. I didn't _want_ to see it, to believe in your goodness if it was only going to be pulled away at the end." His fingers still. "It'll be different. You'll see, Bella. Now you're part of my pack and I always take care of my own."

I don't care what the predator is saying just that his heat is helping me stay warm and he's not hurting me. Never would I consider sleeping in the presence of such a fearsome creature but as I watch my breath puff out I can't help my eyes close. Nor can I help the final bleat of protest when the human stops running his hand along my fur.

With another strange, shaking sound he continues his strokes and I fall into blackness.

"I won't let them hurt you."

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long. To be honest, I didn't like some of the previous characterisation I had written and felt there were some parts missing that should've been added before reaching this point. So I went back and added/changed a few small scenes (if you read the previous version it's not that important, don't worry) just so I was happier about being at this point, this far along in the story.**

**I hope you didn't hate her "coming out" scene. I think some of you wanted her to confess it voluntarily but hey, that's life. At least now we get a sweeter, 100% trusting alpha.**

**Also for anyone who likes visuals with their story I created a[Pinterest board](http://pinterest.com/quietmuse/10th-fera) for some reason.**

**Thanks for reading and the comments. They're what keep me going when I start to doubt my writing x**


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